In Shining Armour
by coffeeonthepatio
Summary: Snape's only saving the unborn child of a strange woman. He never signed up for having his house invaded and a stranger and her child caring for him after the snake bite. Rated M for language only.
1. Chapter 1

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

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**Prologue (in hell)**

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At around midnight every day, when the rat was asleep – or pretended to be – and the rows of houses stood mostly silent, he took a brisk walk. Every night at around midnight. Outside, even in the dirty, black air, polluted by years of robbing the earth, he could breath freely and the oxygen reached all the parts of his body, his arms and legs, his stomach and chest and his head. He strode along, his steps long and carefully measured, always with grace and the sort of elegance that one can only achieve through not trying to achieve it. He would always be absolutely unconscious of his self and as it was dark, he would not have to worry about others seeing, watching him. That was why he only went out to take a stroll at around midnight every day.

Just down the street, towards the old mill, to the muddy riverbank and across the little bridge to the other side of the river, across the old playground and over the next street, between two rows of houses and over the town square, past the old Norman church and through some more streets, back over another bridge, avoiding both the river and the playground and back to his house again. It wouldn't take long. About thirty minutes, maybe forty if he was walking slowly, which he never did.

Nothing special, just a night time stroll to get some fresh air. It wasn't more, it wasn't less. Just a night time stroll to catch a breath of fresh air and get out of the house. It was nice during cloudless nights when he could without the dimly illuminating street lamps and it was nicer when all the street lamps were out and he had to find his own way.

That night, on the Fourteenth of August in the year Nineteen-Ninety-Seven, he was walking through a rather foggy night, left his house, as he always did and immediately turned to the left towards the old mill, the chimneys looking dead and only eerily visibly in the cold fog.

A scream tore through the silent night, female and scared and panicked and terrified and he stopped immediately in his tracks. He knew those screams and they never bore any good fate. They were never the sign for good news or even good sex. Those screams meant business for men and bruises, black eyes and possibly even limps and broken bones. He had known those screams since his youth and since before he had been able to understand what they truly meant. They were nothing new and nothing surprising in this area and usually, he would hear about three or four on his quiet night time strolls and never truly cared. He would usually think that it was the women's – or girls's – own fault for not leaving. Too terrified to leave and too stupid to know that they could live on their own and it wasn't any different that night.

After only a moment's hesitation, he continued his walk but instead of quieter, the noise, the screams, grew louder and louder and if he wouldn't change his route, he would possibly move straight past the woman and her fear and her abuser. He knew all about it and he didn't honestly care. Too weak, those women, just plain too weak.

He didn't want to change his route. He wanted to walk where he always walked and he continued on his way. Towards the old mill. Even if the screams got louder, he just walked on.

He knew the houses. Every brick stone could tell a story about his mouth and he had possibly ran his fingers through most of those in reach in his life. Most of the windows were not illuminated. All the people, the workers, the ones whose lives had been made liveable by the mill had left and only the absolute dregs stayed. The lowest of the lowest, like him. But h wouldn't know since he only ever left his house at around midnight every day and even most of the lowest of the lowest were inside their houses – beating their wives, being beaten by their husband.

"Help!" the voice screamed, terrified, panicked, afraid and for a moment, his eyes wandered to the house where he thought the commotion was coming from but then he saw that it wasn't a house. It was rather in front of a house and that was, he realised, why he could hear the voice so clearly and could pick up every nuance of panic, terror, dread and fear.

She wasn't a girl anymore by any means, that much he could tell even from her back and that man seemed to be roughly about the same age, standing on the lowest step in front of a house, his fist landing in the woman's face. Her head turned and was revealed to him. A bruise already forming around her eye and her body spun around lazily.

If he hadn't known better, he would have admitted that his eyes had widened in shock but he wouldn't and it was true. That woman wasn't just a woman but her stomach was protruding so heavily that she couldn't possibly be far from giving birth. She was carrying a child under her heart and that man was still hitting her.

He would have loved to say that it was cold rage that overtook him but it wasn't. It wasn't even a feeling but more of a hunch that what he saw happening in front of him was the wrongest thing he would ever see and he didn't have to lift his wand, he didn't have to speak. He only had to focus on the man who had raised his fist once more and the next thing he knew, there was a loud, resounding crack from the steps and the woman was shivering and screaming and holding her face and her stomach. He stepped closer and saw the man lying on the steps, bloody oozing from his head, his eyes widen open and the woman staring at him with wild eyes, her bleached hair glowing in the fog and the light from the front door.

"What did you do, you prick?" she shouted and knelt on the steps besides the man. "Did you fucking kill him? They'll get me for it. They'll so get me for it."

He didn't reply and with a last glance at the lifeless body of the man he hadn't wanted to kill, he turned away and walked his usual route.

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	2. Chapter 2

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

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Prologue (with snakebite and memory issues)

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A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issued from Snape's throat.

"Take...it...Take...it"

His grip on the robe's slackened. "Look...at...me..." he whispered

The hand thudded to the floor, and Snape moved no more.

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_There was, he always thought, a kind of limit to pain. Only a certain amount of pain that could be felt and after that, it couldn't possibly get any worse. He knew it, or would have known it if he had been able to form even one coherent thought. He wanted to scream and he wanted to fight but there was nothing left in him – no strength and no energy to even mewl in anguish._

_They were all gone. They had left him to do only because he had been temporarily paralysed because his eyes had stood open. They had all taken him for dead. They were gone. He was all alone._

_His eyes hurt and they closed, stopping the ache almost immediately and despite the pain, he focused on his right hand. If he could just get one finger to move, just one finger, he could reach the Portkey around his neck and if he could reach the Portkey around his neck, he could at least get to a safe place and wouldn't die in the dingy surroundings of the Shrieking Shack.  
_

_He tried to move one of his fingers, just one but the snake's poison, despite the Antivenom he had taken, seemed to be more potent than he had thought. Underestimation had never been his problem but now, it seemed to be._

_Darkness and the blood-red he could see through his closed eyelids alternated. He didn't know what time it was, what day, what year. He was back in a place he longed to be. Warm and safe and cosy. _

"_You have to go back," a sweet voice whispered in his ear, long hair brushing his cheek and the lemony, citrussy scent of long ago washed over him. "You cannot stay here," the voice continued to say. "You just have to raise your hand and all your potions will be at your disposal at home. You only need to reach the Portkey around your neck."_

_More brushing of hair against his cheek. Shifting of weight, but maybe not his weight and his fingers were clenched against the tiny thing around his neck. _

_"I forgive you, Severus," the voice said and he was pulled away by his navel. _

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_He couldn't move. His legs were paralysed and his arms were unable to move and the potions bottles, all the vials he had prepared beforehand were out of reach. No wand. No hope. No strength to try any magic without a wand. _

_Everything went black once more. _

xx

_He knew this room. It was his cellar and there, just over there were the vials that would help. He only needed to raise his hand and want them badly in his hand, down his throat, in his stomach. They would help. They would surely help. _

_His eyes hurt and he blinked and pushed with all his might his arm towards the bottles full of potion. He could reach. With just a little magic, they could fall into his hands and he needed them. Whatever the outcome of this war, he did not want to die. _

_Had he heard Lily? Had Lily forgiven him or was his just his feverish, insane brain answering him? Just a figment of his imagination, possibly. Just something he had made up to make himself reach his Portkey and get to safety. Maybe it was all his own mind. _

_Closing his eyes, he thought of her voice and her hair brushing his cheek and her scent, her wonderful Lily-scent and tried to summon the vials. _

_Nothing. He had lost her power. _

xx

_Tingling in his arms. Painful, dreadful tingling but he could move his wrists already again and he felt life returning to his upper arms as well. Laying flat on his stomach, he pulled himself forwards, to the shelf. Should have put them all on the floor but thinking about the potions, they fell into his hands. _

xx

He was at home, if Spinner's End could be called a home, and he lay on the floor of his tiny potions laboratory back in the cellar. He had four empty vials next to him on the ground, one shattered, two cracked at the bottom. He wasn't sure how he had got there, remembering absolutely nothing from the last – few – hours. He wasn't sure what time it was and it didn't matter when his head hurt like mad and his neck throbbed – though he didn't know why exactly.

He had taken a few potions – or had been given those three potions. Blood-replenishing, Strengthening, Anti-Paralytic, Pain. But his neck still hurt despite the taken Pain Potion and he slowly – and stiffly – raised his fingers towards his neck and looked at them. Why his vision was fairly blurry, he couldn't say but as he focused, as well as he could, on his fingers and saw the bright red of fresh blood dripping from them, it seemed to be clearer. And this fact made it clear why he had taken a Blood-replenishing Potion. And why he would need to take another one somewhat soon.

He stared at his bloodied fingers for a moment, then closed his hurting eyes and shut away all the pain from the dim light coming in through the minute window in the cellar. Blood. Neck. Pain. Potions. His own little laboratory back at – home.

There – a flash of something in his mind. Like a bad nightmare. Like a long-forgot nightmare than returned to haunt. A snake, hissing at him and fangs striking. Fangs sinking into skin and piercing tissue.

Snake. Slowly, he pieced together what he remembered.

He was Severus Snape and he had been Headmaster. He wasn't Headmaster anymore – he knew that. He had been prepared to die but he hadn't. Why hadn't he died? He thought he had wanted to. No more miserable existence. Nothing but blissful blankness. He had wanted that – or hadn't he.

The snake striking and Potter getting some memories. Maybe his mind was muddled because of that. Maybe he had a hard time remembering because he had violently extracted some of his own memories. He didn't know, he wasn't sure.

He was only tired and rested his head as well as he could on the cold, hard floor. It hurt. His must have been open for quite a long time after the snakebite. He could feel the lids itching and scratching against his eyeballs. Dried out. He kept them closed as the thoughts continued to rush, in no particular order, through his head.

Potter and his friends indubitably thought he was dead.

The Dark Lord had turned his back on him, thought him dead.

He wouldn't do either the favour dying. He would live. Possibly.

Minerva McGonagall had tried to kill him.

He had killed.

There was a spare wand somewhere in a drawer. For exactly this situation.

He had given Potter his memories.

Lily was only a shade. Only a few school days that he could see as clearly as every other image he had before.

He hadn't quite died. He could pull the vest off now that was supposed to protect him from poisoned blades.

His eyes hurt.

There was a spare wand somewhere in a drawer. For exactly this situation.

Lily was almost wiped from his mind.

Minerva McGonagall had stared at him with such hatred in his eyes.

The Dark Lord had seemingly killed him.

Potter hadn't done anything to save him when he saved everyone else.

Dumbledore was dead.

There was a spare wand somewhere in a drawer. For exactly this situation.

His closed eyelids twitched as if he wanted to blink. He had to get his feet moving, or at least had to pull himself over the drawer where he kept the wand. He knew he was too weak to perform any extraordinary magic and he certainly couldn't levitate himself up into his old bed but he did not want to die on this cold floor. He didn't want to die on any floor. If he had, he could have stayed in the Shrieking Shack.

His head fell heavy on the floor again and he was, once more, surrounded by blackness.

xx

_He could move his toes and if he put all his strength in his ankles, he could move them too. _

"_You can do it, Sev," the sweet voice said and he was surrounded by the scent once more. "You know there is a wand and maybe you will find the strength to make a portkey up to your bedroom or can apparate up. It's just a bit more, Sev. Just reach out and you'll have it in your fingers. I know you can do it, Sev!"_

_He opened his eyes but there was nobody around. _

"_I'm your friend, Sev. We could have never been more and deep down, you know that. Not because you're too ugly, as you think but because I loved James more. Differently. Because he was the one I wanted to grow old with and you were a brother to me. A brother who was capable of hurting me more than most people, maybe all people. But we would have never worked, Sev. Now reach for your wand and make yourself a new life. I set you free. You fulfilled all vows. That's it, Sev. Just a bit more. Stretch those arms. Good boy."_

_He felt wood slipping between his fingers. _

"_Apparate away. You're strong enough. You won't splinch yourself. You're free now, Sev. I'll keep an eye on you. Good bye now. You're free," his eyes were open but there was nothing to see but a blurry outline of his potions lab. She was nowhere but this in his head. He didn't hear the voice out loud, he knew. It was all inside his head and his head was too heavy to hold up. _

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His hands would move now whenever he wanted them to move and his fingers could feel. Clammy softness. He sniffed. Stale air. What he was wrapped in – stale. His nose picked up staleness wherever he was but he felt something on his chest and slowly, carefully opened his eyes. They hurt still and everything was still a bit blurry. But there it was. There he was.

His bed and his wand. The spare one. Acorn and dragon heartstring. He couldn't remember how he had got it. He didn't know. He didn't remember anything apart from a few lucid moments down in the cellar.

He could move his legs. Shaky, wobbly, they felt but he noticed, once more, that they were a part of his body and that they might be used.

Possibly the Ministry had carted him there and stood watch outside. Maybe Potter hadn't done nothing to save him but had brought him there.

Rubbish, he thought. Potter didn't know where he lived, that he still lived in that shithole. Potter had left him to just die on that dirty floor. Potter who suffered from a dreadful saviour-syndrome had left him to just snuff it somewhere in the dirt. That clearly showed him his place. Not that it mattered. He hated the boy and the boy hated him.

He pushed himself on his elbows and scrambled to the edge of the bed. There was no way he could swing his legs over the edge but he could – push them there. He had to see if the world was any different outside. Fireworks or Dementor-fog. Owls swooping around even here in Hell, or just dreadful silence. He wanted to know how it had ended, or if it had ended at all.

Shuffling to the window, he groaned, though not only out of pain. One glimpse at his Dark Mark could have given him a more or less precise answer. One glimpse and instead of that, he left the warm, damp, stale bed. He leaned against the window and stared at the sleeve of his shirt, unsure whether he had taken his frock coat off or if he had gone into the Shrieking Shack in that kind of undress. He couldn't remember but he tried to unbutton the shirt-buttons hastely.

His fingers trembled badly and he grew terribly impatient. Closing his hurting eyes once more, he pulled the sleeve apart with as much force as he could muster.

There. There. His arm. The Dark Mark.

Gone. Nothing but pale skin.

He pushed the heavy, dirty curtains apart and risked a glance outside. Nothing. Just early morning now, the sun about to rise. Blue sky, orange clouds on the horizon. No fireworks, no owls. Just an invisible Dark Mark.

But there, down there in the street, a pair of eyes staring up at his window and he startled, wobbly legs giving out.

xx

_There was a shriek but he could barely hear it. A push, a bang, mutterings. _

"_If you die on my now, I'll have a hard time explaining that too. Gave me a difficult enough time with Kyle but at least he was fucking drunk enough to explain the open skull on the stairs. I don't fucking know how I will explain you," a voice which wasn't sweet at all muttered. _

"_And why the fuck did you leave the fucking bed? Stay there if you don't feel well. What's that you got anyway? Can't speak?"_

_He couldn't even open his eyes and the four-letter word in every sentence annoyed him endlessly. Maybe it was just in his head. It was all just in his head. Or he had gone straight from Hell to hell and this chattering, raspy voice he didn't know was the one to lead him. _

"_If you hadn't killed Kyle, however you've fucking done it, I wouldn't've bothered breaking into your house at all. Let the bleeding rats eat you. Burgundy, stop crawling on him! He's not a fucking toy. Fuck, you're not dying on me. Oi, stop doing that with your eyes! It's not funny. Fuck. Wake up now!" _

_He just went straight towards the darkness._

xx

He found himself looking into a pair of huge murky brown eyes.

"Hello there," a raspy, disgruntled voice said. "Are you dying?"

He tried to speak. He remembered that woman. She had been the very pregnant woman who had been assaulted when he had been living there in the summer. He had, accidentally, killed her husband or partner or the one who had assaulted her. But the murky brown eyes didn't belong to the voice – the mouth belonging to the murky brown eyes didn't move and they were too young and too innocent to speak like this.

"Burgundy, get down from him," the raspy voice said. "Sorry, but she's crawling on everything that's standing still."

He had a child, a rather young child, on his chest and it pressed heavily on his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

"No no no, you won't fucking pass out again. Do you have a phone? I need to get you to hospital if you keep on doing it."

"No," he managed to say though his voice didn't sound like his own.

She shrugged. "I'm going then. I can't do anything."

She bent over to lift the child off his chest. Was this the child she had carried then? Could have been but he wasn't sure how quickly children grew.

His eyes shut on their own accord again. They hurt. "Water," he croaked. "Vial. Bathroom," he said and fell back into darkness.

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	3. Chapter 3

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter One (when they get started)

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The bathroom looked pretty much like hers. Old. Worn. Parts of the tiles were missing. Chipped off. Limescale everywhere. No proper cleaning been done for years. She could understand that. Water, he had said and there was a small, dirty plastic cup. She groaned. She shouldn't have broken into the room and fuck only knew what Burgundy was doing in his bedroom but she had to leave her there. Rinsing out the dirty cup, she wondered what kind of vial he was referring to, and as she let the water run over the cup, she rummaged through the small cupboard. There were absolutely no normal things in there. No paracetamol, no ibuprofen, no cough syrup, no strepsils, no gaviscon, no vicks, no andrews powders. Nothing. Just little unmarked bottles. And he had said vial but he had not said what vial.

"Bugger it," she mumbled and tried to read what was written on the vials but there either was nothing, or she couldn't possibly read it. She grabbed as many as she could hold, balanced the full and not that dirty cup full of water in her other hand and staggered on her heels back into the bedroom. That was dirty as well and smelled rather stale. She would have to open the window but only with the curtains drawn. Fuck knew who would see her in there and think whatever about her.

Grimacing at her daughter who was still sat on the bed, happily chewing on her teddy, she sat behind him and carefully pulled him up, his upper body resting against her chest. He was heavier than he looked, the skinny man. Snape. He was Snape. She remembered him from school but he didn't seem to remember her. And it was no bloody miracle that he didn't. There were piercing wounds on his neck and they looked like a bad stitching job at a bad hospital. It would most certainly scar.

"Bugger," she mumbled, one of the vials falling of the bed and rolling underneath it. She took a deep breath and held the cup of water to his lips. "Drink," she said loudly and lifted her shoulder so his upper body moved the slightest bit. She should really get him to the hospital or at least get a doctor. Those wounds on his neck didn't look too good and he had a bruise on his cheek as well and his arm was scarred, his hands calloused and a long scar decorated that as well. She hadn't seen him often but she had him pegged down quite well already.

"Been in a bloody brawl?" she snapped and shook his shoulder.

He winced in pain and seemed to look for something on his bed and could only get hold of the leg of Burgundy's teddy as her daughter watched with great curiosity.

Before he could answer her question, she put the cup closer to his lips. "Drink," she huffed as she watched his eyelids flutter but not close. His lips opened slowly and he drank greedily. "Don't make yourself sick." She said as the cup was empty and she slid out from behind him and let him lay back. He hadn't opened his eyes once.

"Are you awake then?"

"I am," he croaked and didn't even look at her.

"Good, I can go then."

"Why did you bother to come at all when you don't want to?" he asked and immediately after, coughed.

"I'm not used to seeing grown men fainting at their windows," she complained. "And you didn't seem like the fainting type when you killed my partner."

She rolled her eyes and bent over him to pick up her daughter when something Burgundy held poked her in the neck. "What do you have there, eh?" she asked grumpily and took a wooden stick from her chubby fingers. "What the fuck?"

Snape, or whatever his name was, opened his eyes and she could see that he was struggling to sit up.

"Give that..." he coughed again.

"What's that? What do you need a wooden stick for?" she held it back and twisted it between her fingers. "Are you...did you fucking run away from a bloody loony bin? Been to Bedlam?"

"What?" he coughed. "What do you think you are, a fucking wizard with a fucking wand? Burgundy, we're going."

"Stop," he said softly, his voice barely audible.

"Stop what?" she shouted. "_Are_ you crazy?"

"I'm not crazy," his voice sounded like he could barely use it. Like he had suffered from a cold for weeks and weeks. "The vial..."

"I found three thousand bleeding vials," she clutched her child closer to herself. It had been a bloody mistake to come into this house to this...freak. Vials and a wooden stick that could be a wand and strange clothes lying around now that she took a good look around. Long black...things lying around. She felt fear creeping up inside herself. Inside the house of a strange man and with nothing but a weird wooden stick to protect herself. And her daughter. And he had killed Kyle. Not that it was a great loss for anyone but...he had cold-bloodedly killed a man. He would most certainly not show any more compassion or hesitation when it came to a woman. Maybe it had all been a lure to appeal to her good heart (not that she had one) and he would be raping and killing her now.

She held back on the shriek, stumbled back against the door and brought her knee into position. It was the only way she could protect herself. And that had failed often enough in the past before.

He had opened his eyes sometime when she had staggered back and as her eyes wandered to his, she could see right into the dark, cold pools. Black as night.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said suddenly. "Leave."

"What? What is that fucking stick here?"

"It's a wand," he said, closing his eyes again and moved to rub them, possibly, but stopped himself. None of all this made any sense. If she looked closely, she could see that he was in no position to harm her. Or he was faking his weakness to make sure that she was unsuspecting.

"You're absolutely fucking bonkers," she shouted and pressed her back against the door. Not the smartest move.

"I don't mean to scare you," he said, opening his eyes again. "Just..." he took a deep breath and he was sweating suddenly. "The vial at the back of the cupboard. There's green liquid in it. It's green. The vial," he gasped. "Please."

She took one look at him, and another at her daughter and biting her lip, she went back to the bathroom.

xx

He felt the cold glass of the vials he had bought in France for so little money pressed against his lips and he couldn't open his eyes to see if she – whose name he didn't know – had found the right one. There was only one with green liquid inside and it would bring him peace, at least for a while. It would take away the pain, it would give him lucidity, strength. It would bring him nightmares but he had slept too much as it was. He wasn't even sure what day it was. Was it May the First? The Second? The Third? Even later than that? He had gone into the Shrieking Shack as the sun was about to rise. Was this the same day? His head cleared once more. He needed enough time to see what kind of injuries he had (apart from the blasted snake bite and the dry eyes) and find out how to keep on countering the bite. And what to do against the blurriness of his eyes. If there was something he could do while being in bed. He needed to find a way to see if there was still poison in his system. He suspected as much, otherwise he would be well, or at least better than he felt now.

The Liquid Strength worked quickly and while the blurriness remained in his eyes, he could sit up quite easily.

"Are you still there?" he asked snarkily. He needed time to examine himself, needed to see if he was strong enough to try brewing – or eating. But she was still there and he didn't even know her name. Didn't even know how she could get into his house, protected by so many wards.

"Yeah, I'm still here," she huffed. "I brought you your fucking potion. And I think you owe me an explanation."

"I think you owe me an explanation about how you got into my house," he countered coldly.

"Through the bloody front door. Lock it if you don't want any bleeding visitors," she rolled her eyes and held the baby to her side.

"I locked it."

"You didn't," she shrugged. "You're Snape, aren't you? I can't remember your first name..."

"What? How do you...?"

"Stocksbridge Primary School," she shrugged, making her baby bounce on her hip slightly. However she did that. "So what was in the vial-thing?"

His old primary school? He couldn't remember her. But who would – low-cut t-shirt, a bit of bra peaking out, short skirt and heels, too thin for any woman. Trashy. But what did he expected in this hell hole? Couldn't remember her. At least, her face seemed naked and un-made-up.

"Christine Lightfoot," she said, sounding bored. "I was a year below you. We lived down the road then and I moved up here a few years ago when Kyle bought the house for cheap. It's across the road."

"And what makes you think I'm interested in all that?"

"Severus. That's your name. Severus. Quite strange, really."

"And what is the name of your daughter?"

She looked deviantly at him. "Burgundy. I can see you're not immediately dying and I don't know why I came here. Possibly because you killed Kyle. So whatever," she shrugged and turned around, and, with the baby still lodged on her hip, she staggered on her heels out of his bedroom and he heard her stomping down the stairs and the front door banging loudly.

Christine Lightfoot. No, he didn't remember her at all. But at least, now, with her help (and he hated to admit that), he could sit up and examine himself. She had held the wand in her hand but where was it now? She couldn't have taken it with her. That would be...it was nowhere. It just wasn't anywhere. He had wasted the rest of his Strengthening Potion (not Strengthening Solution – no mistake there) and no wand. He couldn't examine himself without a wand and even if she couldn't do any harm with it, she shouldn't have it. She just shouldn't. He needed it.

He could swing his legs around now, but he knew it wouldn't last long and while his vision was blurry, he could see enough to find his way to his lab. He needed more Strengthening Potion and when he had at least put the base on, he could try and get his wand back. He stood up on his wobbly legs, his left knee almost giving out. He needed to see what else was wrong. People had hit him with curses and hexes as he had left, as he had flown. His knee had obviously taken one of those hits. But what it was, he couldn't tell. It didn't hurt all that much – but it was uncomfortable. A bit stiff, too.

He limped out of his bedroom, into the bathroom and from there, checking his stores, knowing he had little time until the Strengthening Potion would have run its course, but he needed the bathroom and he needed more of this Potion. Even if it was addictive. Even if it was slightly dangerous. He had to get things in order. They'd be coming for him for sure, one side or the other. They'd find out he was alive and he needed to be prepared for that. He needed to brew. He needed to get some more Strengthening Potion. He needed it, like he had needed it for the last six months.

And he needed a wand. Damn whats-her-name had taken it. Was probably by now letting her child play with it. Stupid woman.

He stumbled down into the cellar, not remembering how he had managed the stairs with the knee (or at all), how his robes and his coat had found their way on the floor in his bedroom. Unsure what that woman thought as he passed through the bookshelves that served as doors. She had, obviously, found her way through them but...he desperately wanted to rub his eyes but he wasn't sure what damage had been done by them being open for such a long time. He needed his wand and soon.

Pushing the door to his cellar open, his knees nearly buckled, he nearly fell to the ground. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. It made him angry that he couldn't rely on his body. He had always been able to – and now – nothing. His knees were so weak. His breathing laboured and he knew he had no chance of brewing anything like this. Wand. Maybe he could...

"I'll open your fucking door now again, Snape. My daughter took your...wand," she said mockingly and a second later, he stared at her once again, leaning against a wall, holding himself up for support.

"Seriously, why the hell did you get up? Thought you're so jiggered?" she said narkily and handed her his wand – shoved it into his hands and he felt a slight warming tingling and couldn't focus on his weak knee and fell down. Just crumbled to the floor.

"Oh aye. Just brill. If you think I'm taking you up to your bed, you're mistaken," she huffed and left the house just as she had entered it.

xx


	4. Chapter 4

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 2 (with the contents of a goat's stomach, modest clothes and a determined woman)

xx

It was as if there were tiny needles attached to the inner side of his eyelids and if said eyelids had been stuck together to the eyeball at the same time and swollen as well. In short, his eyes hurt.

His eyes hurt and he didn't dare to open them and he wasn't sure – where he was. He was lying on something soft again but he was sure that it wasn't his bed. Not his bed and not the floor.

He forced his eyelids apart.

"Welcome back," the woman – he remembered the woman – said sarcastically and, almost ignoring her, he continued to open his eyes. It hurt. It just hurt. He needed salve for his eyes. There was something in his cupboard upstairs. It would be soothing, would give his eyes a bit of moisture. They were dry. They hurt.

His living room still looked the same. It was still dingy and stuffed full with books. But there was something which didn't belong. The woman who glared at him and on the dirty floor, a baby, or was that a toddler, crawling around, looking with big murky brown eyes up at his bookshelves, her grubby little hands trying to grab one or the other and being unable to. His wards held – obviously.

He tried to clear his throat but something felt odd there too.

"I made you some tea," the woman said suddenly and got up from the old armchair she had sat in. "Your kitchen's a bloody pigsty." She shook her head. "Worse than mine."

"What are you still doing here?" he tried to sound most menacing.

"I am not used to men fainting in front of me, even when I completely worn them out," she smirked. "And I couldn't let you lie out there. Besides, I don't think you're dangerous just now," she shrugged and poured him a cup of tea, leaning down that he could see all the way down to her navel. Not a very – erotic – sight. "But I'll be going in a minute. Burgundy, no. Stop that." She scolded her daughter who was trying to push something she had obviously found on his floor. He didn't even want to know what it was – not remembering when he had last applied a cleaning charm on that house at all.

"Get out then," he said and despite everything, he pushed himself up on his elbows and grasped the cup of tea. It looked alright at least.

"I will in a minute but I just wanted to...you know, I know you won't want to go to a doctor but I know one that doesn't ask too many questions and who won't rat you out to any policemen. He'll patch you up proper and he won't say a word. Honestly."

He eyed her curiously. Of course she would know a doctor like that. His mother probably had...he shoved the thought aside. It was their own fault. Those women were all too weak to leave their men. His mother had been, that woman obviously had been and he despised weakness. He despised his own weakness at the moment. He probably wouldn't even be able to lift her child. Not that he would want to. But he couldn't. Not at the moment. Weakness was something to be avoided. And if it could be avoided...it should be. Those women, her and his mother, they gave themselves up into their weakness and that wasn't what anyone should do. Nobody. Never.

As it was, he swung his legs over the edge of the couch, watching as the baby was – with a huge grin displaying four tiny teeth – crawling towards him. He didn't know what to answer her. She had seen the wand, he remembered. He had more or less confessed to being a wizard. Had already broken the Statute of Secrecy.

Had done a lot of things that he wasn't supposed to do. Survive, for one. But, if it continued this way, if he couldn't find out what he could do to save himself, he wouldn't – in the end. His knee hurt dreadfully and his neck – he didn't want to think about the pain in his neck. There needed to be something. Just something. Swallowing was hard to do and his voice sounded so unlike his own.

Suddenly, the child was in front of him and she sort of sat down on her heels and grabbed his knees. His knees! And pulled herself up. Stood wobbly, holding onto his knees.

"Look, now she's bloody standing already and wait another few months and I'll have to run after her," the woman rolled her eyes. "Was hard enough with David and I was younger with him. Fucking seventeen when I had him and when he began to ran as a babe..."

His head spun and hurt. Why was this woman still there? Why was the child still holding onto his knees and was still grinning? He needed a diagnostic charm. He needed his cellar. He needed to find some strength to brew some more potions. And find the salve for his eyes. They were watering. He knew. He felt it.

"I am..." he hesitated, "grateful to you but take your brat and leave me be now."

She arched her eyebrows. "Look, it's honour. You saved me fucking life. Even if you made it difficult for me to explain how he died. I know he fucking meant to fucking kill me. He didn't want Burgundy but I did. And he would've stayed if he had only seen her. But you killed him and I can't let you fucking die now. Go to bleedin' Dr Davies and he won't ask too many questions. None at all if you're not stupid," she said angrily and plucked her daughter away from his knees and carried her on her hip again.

His legs felt wobbly again and he wanted her out for good now. Now. He wanted to test himself and he needed something to get his strength up again for a while. He needed to test himself and he needed to eat and drink and...something.

"I don't think I'll come back to check on you again," she shrugged once more. "But I'll bring you some food over if you stop complaining. Nothing in your kitchen which barely resembles food. Or maybe not," she added when she saw his disapproving face. "But make sure you don't die. I don't want another corpse in this street. Getting hard enough such as it is."

"I'll not die apart from being talked to death by you," he replied snarkily. "I asked you enough times to leave so if you could do me the favour?"

"You always spent time with that...what was her name? Evans. Yes. Evans. A bit posh, wan't she? Always said they only moved here because her father had lost her job. Always thought she was better than us, didn't she?"

"LEAVE!" he thundered angrily, his throat burning, and his eyes hurting horribly. He wanted to do what he had to do, find a way to cure himself and then rest those eyes. Nothing more, nothing less. And hope he'd wake up again.

"I see," she said with a smirk. "Still with her then? You seem a bit posh for around here as well. Oh well. Thanks for saving me life," she shrugged and left his house – and he hoped for good this time.

It had not hurt when she had described Lily as 'posh'. She had been. And her father had lost her job and they had to make ends meet. But she had been a nice girl. She had been friends with him. She had been the one to make friends. And...no, it didn't feel as it had always felt. There was no stabbing guilt inside of him. A twist of regret for things done, yes, but there seemed to have been something which had...loosened her hold on him. Maybe Potter had succeeded and he was free of any obligation? Or Potter was dead and...he should have died then? He had made a binding promise to protect him, but a binding promise was nothing like an Oath, let alone a Vow. He wouldn't die if he failed to protect him. Suffer, maybe. Have a constricting feeling in his chest – which he had but which could also be from the snake bite. Merlin knew.

He groaned quietly as he pushed himself up from his couch. The knee was...abysmal. He'd need to fix that. And the general weakness. He hobbled to the wall and almost gratefully leant against it before he pointed the spare wand (was there children's spit on it?) at himself and as he took a deep breath, a yellowish light came from it, engulfing him in it. Bright yellow spots flared up all over his body – he knew without seeing them and a few runes appeared in front of him. He gave a curt, non-existent nod towards Poppy Pomfrey for always doing this so obviously and for showing him how to do it.

His knee was shattered (how had that happened?) and a few ligaments were torn. He should not walk on this leg. A rib was broken (how had that happened?) and there was still poison in his body, weakening him further. He had not expected that at all. The antidote should have managed that – but apparently Nagini had a few tricks up her proverbial sleeve that even he had not known about. He needed further tests to see what kind of poison it was, how he could counter it. He would have to take blood. Test that. Experiment. But with the weakness, the rapid beating of his heart and the buckling of his knee, he knew, that he didn't have a lot of time.

A bezoar might sustain him for the time being – but only if he didn't take any other potion. Nothing for the knee, nothing for the weakness. The bezoar would at least clear a bit of the poison – he hoped.

He hobbled back onto the old couch and sat down carefully, eyeing the tea that woman had made once more suspiciously. It would do.

"Accio bezoar," he spoke clear, hoping that he was strong enough for that charm and grasped the wand tightly, grasped his knee with the other hand. Should have just stayed to die there.

It flew right towards him, and as the poison seemed to have incapacitated him ever so slightly, it hit him against the chest. He groaned again but plucked it from his lap and closing his eyes, he gulped it down, swallowing hurt, and emptied the cup of tea immediately after, falling back on the couch and resting his eyes further.

xx

She huffed. Loudly. Huffed and sat Burgundy on the floor. She should have just ignored him fainting at the window but he had been staring at her. And he had killed Kyle. Even though...she huffed again.

She had wondered back then how Kyle had flown away from her and onto the stairs when Snape had stood so far away.

"Huh," she said to herself. "Bugger me."

What if he really was some part of some sect or some coven, or what if he was truly a wizard, like...what had been that fucking American TV show? Bewitched. Jeannie. Well, no, that couldn't be. One wrinkled her bloody nose and the other blinked like an idiot. Even if she didn't remember a lot from the entire matter (apart from the corpse outside her house and the bruised face which she had been able to conceal more or less fully with bloody make-up) because Kyle had been on a fucking rampage but...he hadn't been close, he hadn't wrinkled his bloody massive nose and he certainly hadn't crossed his arms and blinked. She had always pushed it out of his mind how Kyle had suddenly been thrown away from her, especially because Burgundy had been born only a few days later. She was glad that the police hadn't asked too many questions after they had tested Kyle's blood-alcohol-thing, and after she had said that she hadn't seen him. The neighbours hadn't said anything either – they had enough skeletons in their fucking cupboards themselves.

Burgundy grinned at her and pulled herself up on a chair, standing on wobbly legs.

"Oh stop that," Christine huffed. "If he's dying, all fricking hell will be loose. And my fingerprints and yours are all over there. So...we can't let him die but if he doesn't wanna go to the fucking doctor's..." she shook her head at her daughter. "He saved you too. Kyle wouldn't have wanted you. He didn't want you. He said that I only had you because I needed to compensate for David but that was a lie. Oh for fuck's sake, Burgundy, we'll buy him at least some Turkey Twizzlers. Or summat," she huffed and picked up her daughter, put a coat on her and herself and left her house. Huffing. Loudly.

xx

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking haggard, worn and feeling just the same way.

"He's not there," he shrugged. "We tried to find him but it looks like he, or someone, Portkeyed him out of there."

"So he could be anywhere?" she asked, breathing shallowly.

"Yes. He have no ways of finding him," he shrugged again. "And I'm sorry to say, Minerva, but he's not on top of our list of priorities at the moment."

"But..."

"He won't be tried for...you know what. He did it in the line of duty and he did it because he had to. We have problems enough as it is to round up all those Death Eaters who haven't been so clearly under Dumbledore's orders. There are plenty and we had to get a special team who only test on Imperius Curses. We can't afford to make the same mistakes we did last time."

"But Kingsley, Harry said he was dead. Or well on his way to being dead. We should at least look for him," she argued.

He raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. "I can only give you addresses he can be found but I'm afraid I can't give you anyone to help you look."

"Addresses will be sufficient," she nodded. "The re-building of Hogwarts will have to wait then."

"Minerva, I don't think...he's probably dead already," he argued.

"And if he is, I won't let him lying in some ditch," she cried. "And if he isn't, I'll damn well to whatever I can to make sure I apologise."

"But Hogwarts..."

"Severus is more important than any building in the world!" she raised her voice again and took a deep breath. "Please get me the addresses you have as soon as possible. Today. Otherwise, thank you, I'll have to see to the Great Hall now."

xx

"Snape! Oi, Snape, I got food for you," she banged against his door. She again. Like the plague. No getting rid of her.

"I don't need food," he muttered, the bezoar still lying very heavily in his stomach, taking up all the room.

"You do need food," said she, suddenly standing next to him with a bag in her hand and her daughter on her hip. "And why didn't you fucking lock up? Do you think this is some pansy posh area? If you don't look up, people will rob you. Not that there's much to get around here. Only books. What the fuck do you need so many books for?"

"To read," he answered coldly. He had forgot to lock up. And she had just been able to walk back in.

"Do you think you can make your own food? You owe me seven quid now, by the way."

"I didn't ask you to buy me food."

"And what do you want to eat? Air? Dust? You certainly have enough of that around here. I'm not doing this out of the goodness of me bleedin' heart. What do you think, and I think I asked you before, will happen if you die around here and about twelve weeks later, people can't walk past your bleedin' house anymore because of the stench. That's how long it took with old Mrs Twillit anyway. Twelve weeks and the stench was...and the coppers have been pretending to keep a fucking eye on around here. Not that they really do, they just pick up kids that do drugs and stuff. But if you die here of starvation, the press will be here, like it was for Mrs Twillit and there'll be no way to live here anymore. So don't starve yourself. I've got Turkey Twizzlers and beans and bread and marmite and some stuff like that. Do it. Or eat it cold, I don't care."

"How often," he asked, drawing a deep breath, "do I have to ask you to leave?"

"You didn't ask me yet," she rolled her eyes. "And I've only got one more question before we leave."

He rolled his eyes again, the bezoar being heavier and heavier but his eyes, somehow, felt a little better. Maybe the nap on the couch he had obviously taken without realising it, had helped. Truly resting his eyes. But now that woman was back and she was...he looked at her.

She still wore the same short skirt, the same heels and the same low-cut t-shirt she had worn before with a coat over it. It was the same day still. Her hair still looked cheap. She still wore no make-up. Her daughter still looked more like an Emma than a Burgundy. Definitely like an Emma. Burgundy was a ridiculous name anyway.

"Leave," he hissed as best as he could.

"I will. But...first tell me how you managed to kill Kyle while you were standing on the street. Not even close?"

He blinked and suddenly, his eyes were blurry again. Sighing, he raised his hand, showing her his wand. He had broken the Statute of Secrecy anyhow. No matter which side had won, no matter who found him, this side or the other, there were worst things that would await him than breaking that particular law. If he couldn't get away in time which he didn't believe.

Before he could react in his incapacitated state, she had snatched the wand out of his fingers – that would have never happened if he had all his faculties – and waved it around, pointing it at her daughter, speaking nonsense words like Hocus Pocus and shrugged when absolutely nothing happened.

"Who the fuck do you think you're kidding?" she asked shrilly, standing there with her daughter on her hip in a terribly defence stance. She threw the wand back at him. "How did you shove him away from me?"

He sighed again and hoped that this was what she needed to leave. He hoped he had strength enough. He waved his wand at her and smirked to himself. Her short skirt had morphed into rather nice jeans and her low-cut t-shirt into a sort of modest blouse. Her coat stayed the way it was but her heels turned into sturdy, flat leather shoes.

"What did you do?" she shrieked. "Me clothes!" Then her eyes opened rather wide (and that was rather unattractive) and her mouth opened and closed. "Fuck," she muttered, grasped her daughter to her chest and, as quickly as he hoped she would, she fled his house.

xx


	5. Chapter 5

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 3 (with a bit of threatening, opiates and a strange woman)

xx

He could feel the bezoar dissolve in his stomach and he felt his neck hurt less. He wasn't sure how it had happened – he'd certainly have to examine, investigate it – but his legs felt less wobbly, less weak and he managed to hobble into his cellar, managed to unlock and unward the door. Managed to find the salve for his eyes and with almost non-trembling fingers, he could smear it into his eyes. And around his eyes and as he blinked, it instantly got better. No more needles stuck to his eyelids. It was more, now, like being overly tired and maybe he was. Not long now until he could fall fully asleep. Without, he hoped, interference from that woman. He had chased her away – he thought with a smirk. A smirk that hurt his face and he neck and his entire body.

Not long now. He only needed to get started on the base for the Strengthening Potion. If he had the base started, he could finish it by the time the bezoar had dissolved completely and with that potion, more of that potion in his system, he would be able, with maybe a bit of Blood-Replenishing, to draw some blood, to keep going. He would be able to find out what had weakened him so. What exactly was in Nagini's poison that he had missed.

Even though – with the bezoar...it felt like – almost felt like – being just overly tired. Just tired. Too many sleepless nights and...he had had too many of them.

Plus, his conscience reminded him, the Strengthening Potion wasn't without side-effects, and he hadn't had a full night's sleep in quite a while since the Strengthening Potion and Dreamless Sleep didn't mix too well.

When had he last slept more than four or five hours? He couldn't remember. Not in the past year at least. Certainly not when he had last stayed at Spinner's End. Not in that hell of a place. Certainly not at school where he had to watch out – not only for the Carrows but also other colleagues, children who would have given more than their right arm to kill him.

He snorted quietly to himself. He had enough potions in this cellar, enough poison, to end it now. Instantly and painless. End the pain, stop it right there. He wasn't sure what compelled him to keep going, what had made him touch the Portkey he had carried around his neck in the Shrieking Shack. He didn't know what had made him want to survive. Maybe – instinct. Maybe...hope?

Hope. He snorted again.

Hope was something for foolish people, idiots, dunderheads. Hope was for those who couldn't think rationally. Hope was stupid, foolish, idiotic. Hope was nothing but a figment of imagination, a phantasm of the wicked mind. Hope was something in the brain. A special area, he knew. Maybe – he should have had that special area of his brain lobotomised a long, long time ago.

It hadn't been hope. Hope for what, exactly anyway? What was there for him? Death – if the Dark Lord had succeeded. Death – or at least long years in Azkaban, being fed to the Dementors, probably, if the other side had succeeded. He was only prolonging things. Nothing worth to live for and yet, he had chosen life. Stupidly.

Sighing, he set upon dicing the straw of the Papaver somniferum – the opium poppy. It would give him strength to carry on. To survive.

xx

She drew a deep breath as she stared at herself in the dirty, full-length mirror. What utterly ridiculous clothes. Her mother walked around in clothes like that. Or her grandmother. Or anyone else. Not her. Probably Hugh. Hugh as the bloke ran around in t-shirt and jeans and flat shoes. Not her, as a woman. And not her as a woman who was a lot less posh than Hugh.

She sighed softly to herself. "It's fucking stupid," she announced and pulled the t-shirt off, threw it in a corner of her bedroom before she unzipped her jeans and sent them the same way. "What does he think he is anyway?" she asked herself softly. It wasn't that she was even talking to her daughter. Burgundy was asleep, taking her nap and relieving Christine of her duties for just an hour or two. But she had got so used to talking to talking to her child that she only barely noticed that she was more talking to herself.

"Bugger it, what is he anyway? Some posh prick like Hugh who's taking away children from their mothers," she hissed. David.

She did miss David. She had begun missing David the moment he had announced he wanted to live with his father in posh Brighton. Posh house, posh car, posh clothes. More than she could ever give her child. Not even with the money bloody Hugh supplied her with. Posh everything. She wouldn't think about David anymore. She had other things on her mind. Burgundy who would be well hungry by the time she woke up and who should be taken to the doctor's for a vaccination. The bloody council who were never happy with her and wanted her out of the house really to build new posh things. The bloody people from the bloody whatever who never gave her enough money for whatever. And the bloody till-girl who never forgot to register anything. Bloody Kyle who was dead and who hadn't married her before he had died, leaving her with nothing but that house. Bloody Snape who had destroyed her bloody wardrobe. She had only wanted to bloody help him but he hadn't even...

Snape. That was something to think about. Bloody idiot. Getting into scraps but being too proud and too posh to even admit it. And she had given seven of her last ten quid for that bugger. Out of the fucking goodness of her fucking heart and because he had rid her of...bruises. Slaps. Another broken finger. Another broken arm. Being forced to do things she had never wanted to do.

She snorted and threw a glance at the clothes she had thrown in the corner before she went to her wardrobe and pulled on another skirt and a top. If he went on destroying her clothing, he would have to pay for it – in addition to the seven quid for the shopping.

"Fuck him," she mumbled as she took a pair of heels from her wardrobe but decided to keep them off until she had to get out of the house. She didn't want to wake Burgundy. The girl was too much trouble anyhow.

She sighed again, throwing a last, longing glance at her former favourite skirt which was now a jeans and went to the kitchen to get herself a cuppa. It was time and she needed the boost. Had been an eventful anyway and she wanted to get some peace now. With a nice cup of Earl Grey and a biscuit. If she could find one.

"Chrissie, dearest, open the fucking door!" there was a shout outside her house and she steeled herself.

Not now. This, she couldn't handle now. Certainly not. But if he kept banging against her door, shouting like that, he would wake her daughter and she would cry and be miserable for the rest of the day and so, she quickly pulled on her shoes and staggered to the front door.

"You know I don't have any money, Rob," she said as she opened the door.

"But luv, Kyle owed me two hundred. And as he's unfortunately dead..." he trailed off, a sly grin on his face.

"Fuck off," she hissed.

"Not until I get some of my money."

He was sleazy. He was disgusting and she knew what he wanted. She drew a deep breath as she looked straight into the watery, pale blue eyes without lashes. Or lashes so blonde that they were invisible.

"I don't have any money. I've got three quid for the rest of the month," she shrugged.

"You could work some of it..."

"Forget it, Rob," she rolled her eyes. "Not even if you force me."

"I'll have to if you don't get your act together and pay me back me money," he kept on grinning.

"Fuck off, Rob," she hissed again.

"How would you like it if I told the coppers that you killed him?"

She shivered internally but she had told herself to prepare for this. She knew it would be coming one time or another. "And how would you prove that, luv?" she asked sarcastically.

"I have enough proof that he hit you. Maybe you just freaked out and shoved him down the stairs," he remarked curiously coldly.

"Everyone knew he was hitting me. Every single fucking woman in this fucking part of town is hit by her _beloved_," she spat. "I didn't kill him and you know it. He was a fucking drunk and he fucking fell down on the stairs. Not me fucking fault."

He shrugged again. "Who do you think the pigs will believe? Me or you slut?"

She laughed. She had steeled herself for that – but that particular fact, she had to remind herself of. Laughing hysterically usually helped anyway. And where was that magic power that could kill Kyle, that could turn her clothing into granny-stuff? Never there when you needed it.

"Fuck off, Rob. I don't have any money. I have a baby I have to care for and Kyle's debts aren't mine. And you won't get _that_ from me either. I've got a bit of class left, you know?" she laughed and played with the door, closing it a bit but he was quick, she had to give him that. He shoved his foot between door and frame and glared coldly at her.

"I'll get me money," he spat angrily.

"Yeah, sure you will but not from me, _luv_," she spat back and was close to actually spitting at him.

"Yeah, from you, luv," he leant towards her and thrust his disgusting, full finger at her face. "Two-hundred quid by the end of the week or I'll make you work for it."

"You'd end up dead like Kyle," she glared at him and grabbed his finger, twisting it back towards the his hand. "You can't threaten me, Rob."

If he was in pain, he didn't show it at all and that scared her. He should have yelped. She could feel it almost snapping. The finger. Not him. Not his resolve. Not his stony expression. "Get the fuck away from my house."

"You not seen the last of me, bitch," he snapped and her own coldness, her own stoniness snapped as well and after taking a deep breath and aiming rather well, she spat in his face, hitting him just below his left eye. He seemed to be so taken back that he pulled his foot from the door and she could close it with a bang, her heart beating wildly in her chest, her hands trembling, her head spinning.

If this was how it was...maybe Snape with his magic wasn't the worst, or scariest person to have around. She sagged against the wall and kicked her shoes off her feet.

xx

He slowly stretched his arms above his head. Light was filtering softly through the dirty, dingy windows. What day of time had it been when he had dragged himself up to bed? He remembered gulping down the bezoar, showing the woman how real magic was done, how he had started the base for the Strengthening Potion. He remembered walking up the stairs, thinking that the old house should have been torn down decades ago, thinking that the stairs were making entirely too much noise. He remembered taking a cold shower underneath the sad little trickle of water that had come out of the shower. He remembered washing his hair but being entirely too tired to dry it, too exhausted to care if he was naked or clothed as he had fallen into bed. He remembered pulling the duvet over his body – and from then on, he remembered nothing. Had it been light outside or dark? He couldn't tell. He didn't know.

He opened his eyes slowly. No stinging on his eyelids, or eyeballs. They just opened. No pain in the neck. Not pain in his face. Just his knee twinging annoyingly. Nothing else.

He was dead. So little hadn't hurt for a long time. He should be dead or under the effects of some strange spell or potion for so little to hurt.

It was his bedroom. He saw his bedroom. The same old ugly wallpaper. The same old boring furniture. Comforting in their familiarity.

He stretched a little more and then fished for his wand on the small footstool that doubled as nightstand beside his bed. It was there. H raised it above his head and flicked it. A spark emitted from the tip and settled into something which resembled 1:23. It couldn't be half past one at night. Not with that much light. But he wasn't sure what day it was. How long he had slept.

No dreams. Strange. No dreams at all without the help of a potion.

Severus allowed a slow smile to appear on his lips. His felt entirely too enthusiastic to be alive or well. He was live. He had a wand. He could make a run for it. He had a chance at a normal life. A life without an evil mark on his arm. A life without anyone making any demands. He was well rested. The Strengthening Potion needed two more days. With that cauldron full, he could make it halfway around the world until collapse was imminent – no matter what happened to him. He only needed a silly suit and he would be Superman – he thought, remembering the silly cartoons from his youth. He could even fly. Two more days in this hell and he would be free.

The smile, unseen by anyone in the last twenty or so years, grew considerably in size.

This was why he had fought so hard to survive. To be free.

He stretched again in the damp and still smelly bed. Not much longer and he could be gone. Be someone else. Not be anyone's villain, not be anyone's hero. No obligations. Nothing. Just him.

xx

She went around the second time, wearing the clothes he had destroyed. Maybe he was more willing to open his door (which he had – good for him – locked now) if she wore the clothes he had made for her. He hadn't opened the door that morning. Hadn't even responded to her yelling.

She needed the seven quid. She needed money for the bus to take Burgundy to the doctor. She needed food. And she needed to find a way to get into his good books. Even if he didn't stay much longer, maybe he could show her a few tricks. Maybe this magic was learnable. And it was certainly useful to keep scum like Rob off her doorstep.

She carried Burgundy on her hip (a buggy or something would be most useful as well) and knocked forcefully on his door.

"Oi, Snape, open the bloody door!" she called out.

"Excuse me," a posh voice behind her said and she turned around immediately. That kind of voice wasn't usually heard around there.

"What?" she snapped, banging on his door again.

"Is that the residence of Severus Snape?" the woman asked. She wore a strangely decent, modest, old-fashioned dress. Her grandmother would have never been caught wearing that kind of flowery pattern. Her hair was pulled back severely – so severely that this woman had to suffer headaches. She had a stern face, like that old school teacher of her who had warned her to leave school before finishing it. Couldn't remember the name...ah well, Ms Fellowes. As much as she didn't want to remember her, this woman, asking posh questions reminded her of her.

"Is that the residence of Severus Snape?" Christine asked back, pouring all the sarcasm she possessed into the question. "Residence? What the hell? Does this look like a fucking residence?"

"Home," the woman replied sternly, primly. She certainly kept her legs together while sleeping. Pinched expression included.

"Who wants to know?" she asked, banging against his door again.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," the stern woman said primly.

"Never heard of you," she shrugged coldly. "Should it ring a bell?"

"I am a colleague of Severus Snape," said she, crossing her arms across her chest. Christine would have done the same if it hadn't been for Burgundy playing with her earrings.

She nodded, though, and cleared her throat. "And what colleague might that be?" she asked in her best prim tone.

"I don't see what business that is of yours."

"I don't see what business of yours it is whether this is...Severus Snape's residence," she retorted quickly.

"Is this, or is this not 66 Spinner's End?"

"That it is, ma'am," she rolled her eyes and turned to the door. She banged against it again. "Open the fucking door. I know you're there."

"So he was here? Is there?" the woman asked, suddenly standing beside her.

"Who?"

"Severus Snape?" she replied with the same you're-rather-dim-tone that Ms Fellowes had always used with her.

"Yeah, for fuck's sake. This is where he was until yesterday afternoon and I haven't fucking seen him leave so he's still there," she almost exploded, her patience running thin. Especially after hearing that bloody tone of voice.

"There is absolutely no need to use those...words with me and especially not in the presence of a small child."

"I talk the way I fucking like," she banged hard against the door. "For heaven's sake, Snape!"

The woman stood next to her, hands clasped in front of her now – not crossed anymore and she seemed to want to wait with her there.

Christine didn't spare her a second glance. Whatever that woman wanted, it could wait. She had been there before. She had been there in the morning. She had watched the house – having had nothing else to do.

It suddenly opened an inch and she could see his nose first. "What do you want now?" he asked angrily.

"You owe me seven quid and there's a co..." she couldn't finish the sentence as the door opened wider and he pointed the wooden stick – the wand – at the woman standing next to her.

xx


	6. Chapter 6

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 4 (with a closer observation of a French region and wine, a cigarette and a talk)

xx

He was very pale. The skin on his face seemed almost transparent, whitish transparent and the blue veins on his temple were as visible as she had never seen them. But – he was wearing rather casual clothing. A white shirt, the cuffs unbuttoned, the first button on his neck opened, his trousers a bit...not exactly dirty but not clean either and as tight as she remembered them from his Hogwarts days. Tailored to his measurements. She remembered. She also remembered that on the few occasions that he had not worn robes over his trousers, a fair few number of eyes belonging to certain females (and certain males) had followed that backside. She couldn't see his behind now. Only his wand, shoved in her face.

"I come in peace, Severus," she said softly, raising her hands as if she was surrendering to him. He, however, and not completely unexpected, kept his wand trained on her and that silly, vulgar women next to her sighed softly.

"Seven quid, if you please," she said suddenly in her thick Yorkshire accent. What a woman. Minerva couldn't remember if she had ever seen someone like her. She looked utterly – cheap. The hair was...false. Or there was a charm to lighten it apparently. Well, the Muggle equivalent of a charm. Whatever they used. You could see it at the roots. Badly applied charm, she would say, that had been grown out. And she wore heels that no decent woman could walk in. At least she didn't show her legs or too much arm. She still looked-cheap. Carried a child on her arm which gurgled almost happily. Or maybe quite the opposite. She didn't know about small children like that. Her niece, the only child she had ever been around was now over thirty. It didn't matter. She hadn't come for the woman with the thick accent and she certainly hadn't come to rescue a child from a seemingly unfit mother.

"Snape, honestly, I need the money," she groaned. "Take the stick-thing away and give me me money."

While Minerva couldn't agree more, the way this woman spoke to Severus was...strange. As if she knew him and didn't know him at the same time. As if she was a strange and a friend. But maybe it was just her way of speaking or the way of speaking in this area. It was inconceivable that someone like Severus Snape, the distinguished, well-dressed wizard he had been before he had been Headmaster and maybe even during that time, could live there. And had been, according to Shacklebolt's sources, born there. Didn't know that Eileen had lived under such circumstances until her miserable end. She should have...she should have done so much, instead of just listening to the...it didn't matter now. Now, she could do things. Now she had to apologise and now she had to explain.

"Severus, I would like to apologise," she said quickly.

"I don't want to hear it. And I don't have any money either so you can leave again. I never asked you to bring food."

"You don't have food?" Minerva asked.

"I brought him food," the woman rolled her eyes.

"Severus..." she pleaded. "I..." she took a deep breath. "We won. What you fought for...what we fought for. I didn't know. If I had any indication. I looked. I wanted to...I didn't want to believe them, him, Potter. I didn't but...," she looked at the ground, unable to look at him any more. She had done this man so much wrong – and now she had assumed to just come into his house and apologise for everything and she had, while not exactly expecting, so at least strongly hoping, that he would accept her apology. She had acted too rashly.

So old – and she still had this flaw. Still too much the Gryffindor instead of the impartial Headmistress she wanted to be in the future. Soon.

Slowly, he let his hand, and the wand fall, and he looked at her with that peculiar empty expression that she knew he used when he struggled with his Occlumency shields.

"Seven quid," the woman interrupted and the baby on her arm began to cry.

"Be quiet," Minerva hissed, and looked at her more closely than before. She had dark circles around her eyes and was too thin, even if the clothes fitted her well. The manly shirt only hung on her. She looked quite tired and worn out but with a child like that, it was no surprise. She still sent her an admonishing glare.

The woman bared her teeth and she almost shouted over the baby's cries. "He owes me seven pounds," she said, obviously trying to suppress her accent.

Minerva scowled. She was there for seven pounds? How much were seven pounds anyway? A bit more than a Galleon? If she remembered correctly, yes. A Galleon and about 7 Sickles. She dung in her pockets, and as that woman obviously knew about Witchcraft and Wizardry (having seen the wand – even though she had called it that Stick-thing), she wouldn't mind taking Galleons. Everything to get rid of her. She dug two golden coins out of the deep pocket and held them in her palm.

"Here. Now leave," Minerva said and she sounded a bit arrogantly, even to her own ears.

"What the fuck is that?" the woman asked, the baby still crying. She groaned, bounced her child and used her free elbow to push Minerva rudely to the side. Her eyes widened. She had never encountered such rudeness. Such blatant, vulgar rudeness.

Severus groaned but he was also pushed aside. "I don't want bloody fake money," she hissed as she walked straight through his hall and disappeared into a room. The kitchen, maybe, or the living room. Maybe another room, she didn't know.

"Seven bloody quid!" she shouted from inside, and Minerva couldn't hear the baby crying anymore.

"Severus..." she tried again, looking at him, trying to plead with him.

"What?" he asked but he didn't sound angry – tired, yes, but not angry or annoyed. Yet.

"I'd prefer if I didn't have to broadcast what I had to say. Especially as..." she stopped. "But if this is an inconvenient time..." she trailed off. She wouldn't let herself be pushed away. She had found him now. If he needed an hour or two, she would wait. As a tabby or as a woman, she didn't mind. But she wouldn't let herself be sent away like an errant child. She would wait, even if it was an inconvenient time.

He sighed, sounding almost defeatedly and opened the door a little wider. "We can get this over with and I believe a corpse will be much less conspicuous inside the house."

She sighed. "No corpse. Even though if you talk about mine, I suppose I deserve it," she shrugged, smiling wryly as she stepped into the tiny house. It was more of a...ruin, she supposed, than a house. Dusty, dark, damp. He followed her and even though she felt the strong urge to turn around and observe him, see if he was truly about to hex – or kill – her, she withstood that urge. She didn't. She just walked until she reached the end of the tiny hall (about three, four, five steps in total) and stood facing two doors. Ahead of her, and left of her.

"Which?" she asked softly, knowing that the woman had turned left and she could see now that straight ahead lay the kitchen.

"Left," he said and puzzled her. Why would he want her to go into the room with the woman in it? Did he want her to tell all this while she was present? It couldn't be.

"Really?" she asked, quite surprised.

He only nodded and nodded his head towards the living room.

xx

He wasn't sure why he hadn't let Minerva McGonagall into the kitchen only. It wasn't as if he was terribly keen on spending even more time with the woman and her child but, he figured, if she was present, McGonagall couldn't possibly just kill him. She might kill him and her but she would never lay hands on a child. He was safer, possibly, with that woman there. And McGonagall knew that as well. She was safer with that woman there.

Besides, he had broken the Statute of Secrecy already. Might as well let her hear the entire story. She certainly wouldn't bother to bother him about seven pounds if she heard that he was a murderer and possibly wanted and belonged to prison. Or not. He wasn't so sure of that himself.

The baby sat on his floor again, chewing happily on something he couldn't identify from the distance. A cracker, maybe. Making crumbs all over his already dirty floor. She was smiling as soon as she saw him. The child was smiling at him. Just like that and as he ignored the two grown women, and sat down on his couch, the child kept smiling and crawled over to him. Stupid child.

"May I?" asked McGonagall, and, not waiting for his answer, sat stiffly down on a rickety chair facing him and the baby which pulled herself up by holding onto his knees. How could he get rid of that little pest anyway? He was sure that pushing away a child was worse than kicking puppies.

It must be, the thought crossed his mind and lodged itself there firmly, be the poison still being in his system that made him behave like that. Let that woman into his house, together with her child, and that other woman who had, that much he could remember, tried to kill him the last time she had seen him. His judgement was seriously impaired and he should, by now, be well on his way to Tibet or maybe Turkmenistan. Or Tajikistan. Mongolia. Tibet. Burma. The Congo. Liberia. Anywhere but Europe, anywhere but the UK. Anywhere but this hell-hole. Anywhere but this living room with three women, one of which was drooling on him. One was glaring at him and one was...trying to find out what exactly was going on. He could see it in their faces (even if the drooling was obvious).

"Take the child away," he growled.

"She likes you," the woman shrugged. "Aww, look at you, Burgundy. You like big old meanie Snape. Smiling like that."

"It's not smiling, it's drooling," Snape retorted.

"Burgundy?" McGonagall asked shrilly. "The child's name is Burgundy?"

"What's your name?" the woman arched her too thin eyebrows. Barely existent eyebrows. Did woman do that? Shave them off? None of those he had ever encountered had done it. But – that point, as before, went to that woman.

Still, McGonagall glared at her. "I would like to speak with Severus privately," she said primly.

The woman replied something to this but he didn't hear it. The girl now truly seemed to smile at him, flashing four tiny teeth at him. Her eyes were, as he remembered, murky brown. Almost as dark as his and even though her short hair seemed to be just as fine as his, it was a rather nondescript, mousy brown colour.

"Hum-hum," she exclaimed and continued to grin at him. Smile, possibly and let go off his knees for a moment to stand on her own. She seemed to fall forward and – it was most certainly the poison left in his body, the stuff the bezoar hadn't caught – his hands reached for the toddler and caught the drooling, damp mess. She squealed and laughed and babbled strangely, babbled something like "Snep" with a big grin on her face. He found her oddly fascinating now – like he was watching someone else being hexed.

She babbled and grinned and he didn't hear the women bicker (and wasn't even sure if they did bicker) or talk. He listened to the child saying "Snep, Snep, Snep" time after time until he understood what she meant.

"Snape," he pronounced clearly.

"Snep," she said laughing and drooling. A small bit of drool dangling from the corner of her mouth and he watched, curiously, as that thread of spit grew longer and thinner and longer and thinner and threatened to drop onto his sleeve before he summoned a bit of toilet paper wandlessly and wiped it away. Better than on his robes.

"Snep!" she giggled and as he had barely noticed that she had got comfortable on his knees, it came as an almost bigger surprise when she shifted closer and snuggled against his chest. Her tiny head with the fine, mousy brown hair pressed against his chest and one of her hands holding onto his hand and the other lying flat on his chest. The baby sighed.

Severus suddenly became aware of this. He let a baby cuddle him. A tiny toddler was cuddling him and leaning against him trustingly.

And the women had stopped talking.

xx

Something wasn't quite right, Minerva thought. The wee babe didn't look particularly like Severus. The eye colours were similar but the rest...

Even though, she couldn't remember ever seeing a baby having a hooked nose at all. Or that viciously empty expression, not that he wore that now. Now he was simple looking at the child in surprise and she had never been able to read surprise this clearly on his face. Or any emotion for that matter. Severus Snape had perfected the blank look. The sneer was admirable. But a positive expression on his face...not that she could find a single instance in her memory.

She had to use that opportunity when he looked up suddenly and his face snapped back.

"Severus," she began hesitantly, using her low voice, her brogue, she knew, more pronounced than usually. But she wanted to talk to Severus – her friend. Not Snape – the pawn. The one who enjoyed a good game of a chess and a spot of Firewhiskey in his tea. Not the one who could raise his wand and kill through love. Or hatred. The one who had just almost smiled benevolently at the girl. The one who would smugly collect all the wagers put on Quidditch matches.

She took a deep breath. "I spoke to Kingsley Shacklebolt. They all believe you're dead," it didn't matter that the silly, vulgar woman was sitting there. Now was the right time. Now, she had to say it. To her former – and future – friend. "But you've been exonerated. Acquitted. There won't be a trial. You're a free man, Severus. There won't be any...punishment for what you had to do. A letter appeared on Kingsley's desk the moment that you-know-who was...you know. The portrait confirmed it all, Har...Potter confirmed it. You're...needed back there," she paused. This wasn't the right way. This wasn't what she had wanted to say and she sighed once more when he remained silent, helping, odd as the sight was, the girl stand on the floor, "I'm sorry for what I've done..."

"What've you done?" the vulgar woman asked.

"I'd like you to leave now. This is a private conversation between me and Severus," Minerva seethed. She hated saying things like that. Especially in front of strangers – and strange people.

"I won't go anywhere," the woman said and crossed her arms and her legs. "What've you done to him? Was it because of you that he was like this? What did you fucking do to him?" she said angrily.

She was about to reply, wouldn't let herself be shocked by the cursing, when Severus gently sat the child on the floor. "She can stay," he said steadily.

Minerva stared. She didn't know what to say.

xx

She didn't know what was going on. Burgundy was most certainly flirting with Severus Snape but that woman, that stiff and prim and proper woman was talking and talking. Until something broke out of her. Something Christine certainly didn't understand but this woman had done something to him and she still had the fucking gall to turn up there?

She glared at the posh moo. Snape had flirted so nicely with Burgundy, had helped her walk and if those two continued like this, she could even leave her daughter with him if she had a date and now he was utterly puzzled because of the tirade that she had just let loose.

"I'd like you to leave now. This is a private conversation between me and Severus," the prim moo said.

Her anger boiled over. "I won't go anywhere," she said quickly, crossing her legs in the uncomfy jeans and the weird t-shirt. "What've you done to him? Was it because of you that he was like this? What did you fucking do to him?" she glared and didn't notice that Snape put her daughter on the floor and said, softly, with his deep voice, "She can stay."

The woman sat open-mouthed and Christine smirked to herself.

"What the fuck have you done then?" she asked.

"I tried to kill him," the woman said – brutally honest and Christine, usually not at a loss for words, didn't know what to say. That was just...unexpected.

"You did what you thought was right," Snape said suddenly and his voice was even softer and even lower than before.

"But I didn't. I didn't. I should have seen that you were protecting the children, you were sending them to Hagrid instead of the Carrows. I should have realised that but I didn't..." the woman put her face in her hands and seemed to breathe heavily.

"Snape, what...?" she heard herself ask but it was getting too much really. She didn't understand a single word and...

Snape protecting children. The posh moo trying to kill him. Too much.

She took a deep breath and got up. "I think I need a cigarette. You won't let me smoke in here, will you?"

She didn't wait for his answer, saw that her daughter was in more or less safe hands (they had flirted with one another after all), and moved through the kitchen to his little back garden. She really needed a fag now. And then let Snape tell her everything. Or let the posh moo tell her everything. In a condensed version. Or maybe be happy with not knowing.

xx

"Is she your...?" Minerva asked suddenly, looking up from where she had put her face in her hands.

He shook his head. "A neighbour," he replied.

"We won, Severus," said Minerva quietly. "I know it's what you fought for. I didn't trust Albus after all."

He took a deep breath. Maybe this was necessary. Maybe they had to have this talk. "He was a hard man to trust. In the end."

"He asked too much of you. Of Potter. Of all of us," she replied and sounded terribly tired. Only now, did he take the time to really look at her. Her bun had almost become undone and there were dark circles underneath her eyes. The lines on her forehead were more visible as well.

"We had to fight. It is a war..."

"Was a war," she corrected with a sigh. "It's over."

He nodded slowly, still trying to find out why exactly she had come.

"Most of the Death Eaters have been captured. They're in Azkaban and await their trial..."

"What is the difference between them and me?" he snapped.

"Your soul," replied she, immediately, obviously prepared for that particular question. He felt his own weakness rise again, however, and he only wanted to rest and put up his feet and check on his Strengthening Potion. Put the baby back to her mother, and stop her from smiling so trustingly at him.

"There is no difference," he said tiredly.

"Severus, are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded but it felt like he was nodding underneath some water. Or his ears felt like he was being kept under water. Or his eyes. Or most of it. No, his eyelids grew heavier. And he thought he was stronger now. He thought the bezoar had done its job.

He couldn't faint in front of Minerva McGonagall. He couldn't.

He forced his eyes open but he couldn't see. And his knee hurt. He wasn't sure whether he had limped earlier or if the bezoar had given him additional strength for that as well.

"I'm alright," he heard and it sounded alright to his ears but Minerva was by his side and patted his cheek and she couldn't hear what she said. It sounded like Burgundy's babbling.

xx


	7. Chapter 7

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

xx

Chapter 5 (with more quarrels, a blend between an alien and a former Stoor Hobbit, and a promise)

xx

"What the fuck?" Christine heard herself shriek as she re-entered the living room. Snape slumped on the couch, the woman bent over him with a vicious expression on her old and wrinkly face. She jumped forward and, because this was what you did in those kind of situations, she pulled the woman bodily away from Snape.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she cried and didn't even spare a glance at the woman, kept her eyes on Snape and her daughter who had pulled herself, or had been pulled by someone, up on the couch next to him. Burgundy stared with wide eyes and seemed a little afraid. She would soothe her later.

"So you try to kill him while I'm out for a bloody fag?"

"You ridiculous child!" the woman exclaimed, behind her but Christine paid her no mind. She didn't care whether the old, shrivelled hag had landed on her flat arse or not. It wouldn't have been the first person she had knocked on the ground. "He fainted," at least now her accent was less posh and sounded more – Scottish.

She shook her head to herself and leant down further. He was breathing. At least he was breathing. His chest was rising more or less regularly but he was pale as a fucking ghost. Paler than a sheet. And underneath the paleness was a yellowish colour to his skin which wasn't absolutely healthy. She hesitated a moment before she brought her hand up to his cheek and patted him gently.

"Snape, wake up," she said and as she wanted to pat him again, she was rudely pushed aside by the posh, wrinkled hag.

"What d'you think you're doing?" Christine pushed back and glared at her.

"Do you think you can heal him?" the hag snapped angrily. "He was bitten by an enormous snake, he was possibly tortured before the snake has bitten him and you think you can heal him by patting his cheek?"

"You think you can? I haven't tried to kill him yet. I might if he continues to black out here but I haven't tried it yet. Shouldn't you be rejoicing and putting a pillow over his mouth?"

The hag had an icy glare which she turned on her. "I do not think that it is any of your concern, girl, what happened to him or not and what I have, or have not done. You should just traipse back to that hovel of yours and leave his well-fare to me."

"Traipse? Hovel? You have no fucking idea where I live. And I's helping him before you showed up here. He wouldn't even be alive if it hadn't been for me," she fibbed. A bit. No matter if what she said was true or not, she had cared for him first. And he owed her some money. Her daughter liked him. And she shouldn't be pushed aside by a bloody old hag who had just stumbled in and who had admitted to having tried to kill him. Who did she think she was anyway? Arrogant, snotty. Cow.

"Just go, child. I can handle it from here. I can bring him where he belongs and I can make sure he gets the care he needs."

"Yeah, bringing him to the fucking coppers, eh? So he gets into even more trouble? Over my dead body, you hag."

"I am no hag," the hag replied. "I have never in my live eaten a child and as you can see, I am quite adept at concealing myself in front of a Muggle like you."

"What?" Christine shrieked and pushed her elbow into the hag's ribs. She stood her ground firmly and stroked Snape's cheek again. "Wake up now and I'll make you a cup of tea and maybe some broth or summat if I can find an OXO cube."

"You will do no such thing. He needs medical attention," the hag argued.

"Medical fucking attention means fucking coppers and he doesn't want them, he said so," she argued back. She had every right to argue like this as well. Coming inside, telling him she was sorry, telling her that he had been bitten by a snake and that he needed bloody medical attention. No way. Medical attention. Pfh. He didn't need a doctor if he said he didn't need one. And if he didn't want to see one because he didn't want to deal with the pigs, what could she do but make sure he could stay there?

xx

Who did this woman think she was? He needed to go to St Mungo's where they had a specified antidote since that incident with Arthur Weasley. He was acquitted and he would get the very best care – if not at St Mungo's, then at Hogwarts where people knew about him and knew how to deal with his injuries. He had to be with people who knew him not with that tramp who used vulgar language and manners and absolutely no class at all. Living in that area, raising her child like that – letting her child crawl all over Severus.

It was a rather beautiful child though. Brown hair, dark eyes, a cute little pouting mouth and a constant smile on her face. Almost constant anyway. And she seemed rather close to Severus. What had that man done during the last year, during the year before? This life here – she hadn't known about it before. So refined, so graceful, so eloquent. With that woman, who was the complete opposite. So different from him and from the Severus she knew – or thought she had known. Vulgar and so...working class. So clearly beneath Severus and yet, and even though she called him Snape, it seemed that they were rather familiar. Owing her seven pounds? For food?

Her eyes gleamed suddenly. What did they need seven pounds (however much that was in normal money) for food for when...

She straightened up.

She understood the point the woman made, even if she didn't necessarily agree with them. St Mungo's would mean a lot of press. And if she could just...

It was the perfect solution. She cleared her throat, let the vulgar woman fuss over Severus alone for a moment and grinned quite smugly to herself. "Dinky," she called loudly, and ignored the vulgar woman whose head had snapped up to stare at her in bewilderment but then patted Severus's cheek again in that overly intimate way. Dinky would know who to call, who was loyal. Dinky would know who had served him. Who had helped him, had supported him. She stepped back a little and cast a charm around herself, on the area around her and a second later, an ancient, tiny but powerful house elf popped up in a bow already.

"How can Dinky serve Headmistress Minerva?" the elf asked.

"Dinky, I just have a question," she began slowly, glancing at the woman who hadn't noticed the arrival of the elf. If she could get her out of the house before she sent an house elf to help Severus, it would be...good.

The elf nodded again, and even though her head was bowed, she could still look at her. Efficient, brave Dinky. Who knew everyone and everything and who everyone listened to.

"Who served the Headmaster last year?" she asked.

"Erwin, Headmistress Minerva, ma'am," the elf explained briefly.

"Erwin?" Minerva frowned. "Who is he?"

"Headmaster Albus Dumbledore brought Erwin to Hogwarts, Headmistress Minerva, ma'am. Came with him from bad, bad wizard as an elfling, ma'am, Headmistress Minerva, ma'am," he explained.

"Grindelwald?"

The elf nodded vigorously. "Went to work for Headmaster Albus Dumbledore at his home, and was bound to serve Headmaster Severus after Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was dead, ma'am Headmistress Minerva, ma'am," she bowed again.

"Erwin, the elf, was on Dumbledore's orders to serve Severus Snape?"

The ancient elf nodded eagerly. "And now?" asked Minerva.

"Is depressed, Erwin is," he replied. "Wants to serve but cannot serve anyone but Headmaster Severus as long as Headmaster Severus, sir, is alive."

"Well, bring him," she said suddenly. "No, wait, he is loyal to Severus?"

"We's all loyal to Headmaster Severus, sir," she said viciously and almost glared. "To all Headmasters and Headmistresses, ma'am Headmistress Minerva, ma'am."

"Well, would you please fetch Erwin then?"

"Instantly, ma'am, Headmistress Minerva, ma'am," she said and popped away. She was startled and absently, undid the charm around her. Even now, after all the time that had passed and all the time she had to digest things, this little bit of information did still throw her for a loop. Albus had made sure that Severus had someone to take care of him even if it was an elfling he had found back in Grindelwald's forsaken abode, back then. Possibly. Whatever the story was behind that. She doubted she would ever find out – so many things her friend had done during his life and had not told her about.

Not the time to be angry.

She took a deep breath and hoped that Dinky took a moment.

"It would be better for you to leave now," she said sternly to the woman, who had just picked her child from Severus's stomach. The boy was still unconscious – but possibly Erwin could do something about that – but his eyelids seemed to flutter from time to time as if was dreaming.

"You can't tell me what to do," the woman spat angrily. "Burgundy, no. No crawling on Snape now, he'll be waking up in a minute," she told her daughter and sat her on the floor. This was no way of handling a small child, she thought. Even if she had no real experience with children.

"I would kindly ask you to leave since I have to..."

"You won't kindly ask me to do anything," she glared at her. "I know why you want me away and you won't bring him to any...coppers or doctors."

Minerva took a deep breath. "Fine," she said in the voice she usually used for stray students who were beyond hope. "Stay."

"Thank you," she replied sarcastically and sat down on the couch now, next to Severus, her daughter crawling around and Minerva only hoped that the elf she hadn't met yet wasn't appearing on top of the poor child.

xx

She couldn't suppress her anger at this wrinkled old hag anymore. Getting up from the old couch, she stood nose to nose with the hag and even though she had to stand on her tiptoes, she could smell the hag's smell (some spicy, lemony) and see into her forest-green eyes and the wrinkles. The poor hag had possibly never heard of anti-ageing stuff.

"You listen to me, you hag," she hissed angrily. "This is Snape's house and if he wants to throw me out, he should throw me out but you have no right here."

"I could be his mother," she replied angrily. "And for the last time, I'm no hag."

"You are. And you're not his bloody mother. I knew his mother and in comparison to you, she was a decent person." She wanted to say more, wanted to maybe push her a bit when she could hear a faint pop – like someone was playing with bubble wrap. If the sound would have been behind her, she wouldn't even have bothered to turn around but as the pop came from straight behind the old hag, she took a peak and well...hell.

"Erwin's here, Master Severus Sir," the...creature said.

"Oh for fuck's sake," she said breathlessly and stopped her intimidating-the-old-hag-act for a moment to pick up her daughter from the floor close to that...thing...and wrapped her safely in her arms.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Erwin's an elf and lives to serve Master Severus Sir. Oh, Master Severus Sir!" the creature had a weird voice. Guttural, deep, not at all fitting to the...thing it was.

"Did you bring an alien here? How did he come here? What's that?" she turned to the hag again. "Did you bring bloody E.T. here? Gollum?" He did look like the perfect blend between E.T. and Gollum. Slowly, she felt like reality was slipping away from her. Maybe, she thought, this was all a long nightmare. Maybe Rob had hit her and she had hit her head. Or she had gone straight to hell as her grandmother had predicted when she had been pregnant with David and this was hell. A series of bloody strange encounters. The first circle of hell, she believed.

"I's not anyone but Erwin," the blend between E.T. and Gollum said strangely. "Oh, Master Severus Sir!" the thing, not taller than a eight-year-old child, dashed forward and past her and her daughter and even past the hag and almost bounced on Snape's chest. "Oh, Master Severus Sir, Erwin's helping you now, not to worry, Master Severus Sir, Erwin will get you on your feet."

The E.T.-Gollum-blend snapped his long, spindly fingers and his overly large ears twitched and there was sudden coldness in the room and she had to hold on tighter to Burgundy. It was getting bloody spooky.

"What is that?" she asked, squinting at the hag.

"Shut up," the hag did not obviously lose some of her stern demeanour.

"I don't know what gives you the right to fucking speak to me like that."

"Seniority, child," she replied immediately.

xx

He felt cold and warm at the same time. Dizzy and clear. Right and wrong. He felt left and right at the same time. Black and white. Everything was nothing and nothing was everything. His hands were his feet and his head was his bottom. His life was over and just beginning. He stood very tall and erect and lay flat on his back.

His eyes hurt and could see clearly. His hearing was perfect and there was a buzzing in his ear.

He was confused and confused was bad. Confused was very bad. Pain was good, breathing was better. Eyes open were best.

A chilly, calming draft blew over his face, his cheeks, his forehead and through his hair. It soothed and it relaxed and it comforted. It was easy to breathe and it was easy to get enough air. It was easy to open the eyes and it was easy to remember.

There. He knew those eyes. Those purplish-brown eyes. "Erwin," he rasped.

"Oh, Master Severus Sir is awake again. Master Severus Sir is not eating enough again and Master Severus Sir is neglecting himself again. What do Erwin tell you all the time? All the time, Master Severus Sir? Master Severus Sir needs to take care of Master Severus Sir because we needs Master Severus Sir."

"Water?" he asked, blinking. How had he come there – he wasn't sure and he didn't want to look any further than those purplish-brown eyes. There was something he didn't remember. Wouldn't remember.

"Severus?"

"Snape?"

There. There were those he didn't, wouldn't remember. Those two...women.

McGonagall must have...or Erwin had found him on his own. Was bound to serve him and he liked it. How he could like it, Severus didn't know. Not at the moment.

"Here, Master Severus Sir, you drinks, Erwin fetch more water and food when you drinks this all," the kind, loyal elf whispered gently and held a glass full with clear, fresh water to his lips. "Erwin get rid of nasty womenfolk as well, Erwin do."

Severus drank greedily, some kind of elf magic keeping him from choking to death.

"But baby good for Master Severus Sir's health, it is," the elf continued without taking a breath. "Baby magic good for ill Master Severus Sir."

"I'm not ill anymore," he managed to whisper.

"You's ill within," he replied sternly. "You needs to smile more and baby make you smile. But now Master Severus Sir drink nice soup and Master Severus Sir sleep. Erwin make you sleep, Master Severus Sir and Erwin will send womenfolk away, Erwin do."

"Thank you, Erwin," he said and felt a bit of strength returning as a mug full of steaming, deliciously smelling broth was pushed into his hands.

"You drinks, Master Severus Sir. You drinks and let yourself falls to sleeps," he nodded. "Erwin tell womenfolk to leave Erwin and Master Severus Sir alone for a while and only returns when Master Severus Sir needs baby bad for healing. Erwin protect Master Severus Sir better now. Erwin promise."

"Don't," he said between sips. "Don't promise."

"Elf-promise," the house elf said with a wicked look in his eye, a determined and sure expression on his face. "Elf-promise cannot be broken."

Severus groaned. He knew. Couldn't be broken. Had to carry out what he had promised and he could feel, quite deep within himself the tiny ripple of magic swinging through the damp air in his old, rotten house and he knew the elf had made his promise. Had deepened their bond – even against his wishes.

xx


	8. Chapter 8

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 6 (with Earl Grey, a weeping Gryffindor, mouldy bread and counterfeit money)

xx

The first thing he saw when he opened his – non-gritty – eyes, was the steam. Steam curling in the most beautiful manner from a formerly chipped old mug with an ugly flower pattern. The steam rose, almost like it did from a simple potion – such as Pepper Up – and sent the almost cheery bergamot aroma through his bedroom. Only Erwin had ever put tea on a little stand beside his bed and only Erwin had always made sure, with his incomprehensible elf-magic, to have the tea steam, and be fragrant and yet stay hot at the same time. Only Erwin made him Earl Grey in the mornings.

The peculiar elf had truly found his way to him. Had made a promise and had bound himself to him, a thought with which Severus found himself to be rather uncomfortable.

He stretched in bed, his arms and legs and eyes and neck no longer hurting and it was only the knee which twinged a little as he bent it to the side to push himself up on his elbows. He didn't wince. He felt so awake that he knew if he continued to be so awake, and feeling so refreshed, he could deal with his knee and the Strengthening Potion.

"It's good you's awake now, Master Severus Sir," the elf bustled around suddenly, having popped up in his bedroom, possibly, but so quickly that he hadn't heard. "You sleeps for almost two days and Erwin have to send nasty womenfolk away so often Erwin's head spin," the elf rolled his eyes annoyed. "Nasty woman with baby come three times a day and ask for seven quid. Erwin don't know what seven quid is but give woman seven little squid to eat but nasty womanfolk don't want little squid to eat so Erwin take little squids away again and send them back to Hogwarts."

"Seven quid is seven pounds," he replied sternly and scratched his head. His hair was beyond dirty and his scalp itched. But Erwin had the orders never to concern himself with Severus's personal hygiene and even though the elf had gritted his teeth more than once, he kept his mouth shut.

"What's seven pounds, Master Severus Sir?" the elf asked, eyeing his doubtlessly messed up hair with a calculating glance.

"Money. Muggle money," he replied, taking a sip from the tea. It tasted even better than the cup Erwin had delivered him to bed every morning a few weeks ago, a few months ago. Since the morning he had first been...this tasted better, fresher, warmer, with more body to its bergamot aroma. It warmed him from the inside, flowed into his stomach with ease.

The elf watched and he watched him. His head felt clearer as well and he had no doubt that the little creature had performed some kind of magic on him. It was strange since Erwin had never before shown any healing powers – even though it was maybe just the full night of sleep he had.

"Could you change some Galleons into Muggle money?" he asked his elf, or almost his elf, who shook his head immediately.

"Erwin cannot change money. Goblins doesn't believe Erwin. No elf allowed with nasty Goblins. Nasty Goblins thinks they's better than elves because elves likes to serve and Goblins thinks it's stupid to listens to anyone. No elves allowed without wizards," he blurted and pulled on his right ear, pulling it down to his cheek and towards his chin.

"No punishing," Snape said sternly. "You know the rules."

"But is not school anymore, Master Severus Sir. Still want no punishment?"

"None. And no more promises, understood?"

The elf's left ear twitched and he slowly let go off the right one and that began to twitch as well.

"Good," Snape said. "Now see if you can find any sort of Muggle money in this house or if not, let me know and I will bring her back her food. You haven't used it, have you?" he asked, feeling not weaker, but stronger.

"Erwin have not used."

"Good, I won't owe anyone anything anymore," he muttered and pulled the nightshirt the elf had no doubt spelled, or put, on him, over his head. He felt strong. Muscles working normally.

"Master Severus Sir, not standing on knee, Master Severus Sir," said Erwin, nervously and he could clearly see why. The knee was purple and double the size of the other one. Slowly, he pressed a finger against the knee and flinched. He could see why the elf had warned him.

"Erwin can't do anything, Master Severus Sir, no good, no potion, no healing spell. Knee are broken," his long, spindly fingers inched towards his ear again and his head seemed to move towards the cupboard.

"No punishing," he said softly. "And get me something that I can transfigure into a cane."

"Erwin bring cane," he smiled his elf-smile and popped away.

Severus stood up slowly, putting all his weight on his good leg. He wanted to give the woman either her money, or her food. This would, most certainly, keep her away from him and his house and if he could just get all his things in order, he could still leave – despite the fact that he was, apparently, acquitted. Of Erwin was still loyal, he at least had a companion, help. He would have to ask the elf, later. A shower, and somehow getting there. Flying in the house was out of the question but he had no doubt that Erwin would get him a cane quite soon.

xx

He didn't know it and he wouldn't know but she knew he was fine. Erwin was, yes, loyal to Severus but she knew, from her sources (and that meant house elves) that Severus was still sleeping. Slept off the entire ordeal of the past year and she couldn't say she blamed him. She knew that Erwin had got food for him, that Erwin would take care of him. If a house elf was so devoted to throw out other humans without the explicit wish of his witch or wizard, and if an house elf made such a strong promise, there could be no doubt that he had only the best of their masters on their mind.

Not that she had taken kindly to being thrown out. She only wanted to help him after all. The rest, or most, of those wizards and witches around here still didn't care if Severus was alive or dead. Sad. Pathetic. He had done so much and...in a few months, when all was rebuilt again and the deaths a bit digested, when the world had gone back to normal and was trying to repress all memories of Voldemort's reign of terror, Severus would be forgot. His deeds just a footnote in the history books that would indubitably be written. Stones could wait to be put together again, things could wait to be build again. Human relations would never be the same if waited too long. And she doubted that her and Severus's relationship would ever be the same as it was before – because she had mistrusted him and had ignored him for too long already. Because she hadn't trusted enough but she wouldn't waste one more minute to fix the friendship between her and Severus Snape.

But as he was sleeping, she couldn't do much, and the question was, what to do once she was informed that he was awake. Go over there again? Write a letter? Invite him back to Hogwarts? Get Poppy to get there with her – just to run a few diagnostic spells on him? Offer him the Headmastership and step back herself?

He wouldn't do that. But what else could she offer him? Nothing but a kind of livelihood through teaching? He had disliked teaching. He had only rarely complained about teaching (about pupils, yes) but then again, he had only rarely spent his time in the staffroom. He had never been part of their monthly night at the Three Broomsticks. He had never spent any more time with anyone than he had to. Except – he and she had made it a point of playing one game of chess at least each term. Most of the time on the last night of school. And that was the only time she had seen him in a really private setting, when he had laughed and smiled even as they thought about what had happened during the term. Sometimes, they had even met in between.

And she had been the one to destroy this. She hadn't trusted, or trusted enough. She had been the one to glare at him, to not even stop to ask what had happened on top of the Astronomy Tower – and what had happened to lead up to this event.

She pressed her eyelids tightly together but the tears were seeping out nevertheless. Tears of hot shame and self-discrimination. Tears for the knowledge that she had mistrusted those people she should have trusted the most. Albus, Severus. Instead, she had believed Harry – who was a child.

She sat and cried and knew that she should not – knew that it had all been planned this way. Knew that it shouldn't have gone any differently. Couldn't have gone any differently.

But she couldn't help the fact that she was, after all was said and done, a Gryffindor with a tendency towards sentimentality.

xx

The cane was simple. Just wood with a handle to hold on to. Where Erwin had got it, he didn't know, and he didn't truly care. He had something to do.

It had come as no surprise that Erwin had stocked up his kitchen with things coming, most likely, from Hogwarts. There were at least a dozen pumpkin pasties in his kitchen, a huge pumpkin weighing down his working surface, and he hadn't even looked into his fridge to see what was in there (even if it ran with magic).

The bag with the bread and the beans and whatever else she had brought looked pitiful in comparison, and a little sad and as he picked it up, he felt a stab of something inside himself. Despite her dirty mouth, and despite her odd behaviour, she had tried to help him and she had picked him up from the floor, had brought him food and had even tried to protect him from McGonagall.

He understood that kind of behaviour, however. She had killed her partner and on some level, she was probably happy about that, or grateful and since expressing gratitude was not something they could learn from earliest childhood. Knowing gratitude wasn't something they could learn.

But this was the way even he knew how to express this particular, strange feeling, when, once in a while, he felt it. Erwin had found three old fifty pee coins and maybe four or five ten pee coins. It was all he had been able to find and Severus didn't doubt for a moment that the tireless house elf had searched the entire house. But she would get her money back and the food, even if the bread was a bit mouldy. He understood their way of showing appreciation, gratitude as well.

He knocked on the door and waited, leaning on his cane. The knee hurt but the Strengthening Potion was more important. With that in his system, he could manage almost anything. He knocked again after a few seconds, louder that time, more forceful and suddenly, the door was flung open and she stood there in all her barely-dressed _glory_ and held a knife towards him.

"For fuck's sake, Rob, you know I don't have any...oh, it's you," she said, lowering her voice at the end and lowering the knife as well.

"Even if I did bring back your food there is no need to bring the knife straight to the door," he replied, and with that accent opposite his, an accent he had worked hard to overcome over the years, he did his best to enunciate and to speak proper English.

"Come in then," she sighed and stepped aside but it didn't escape his notice that she did nothing to loosen her grip on the handle of the knife and that she was still very ready to use it.

"I know this area is not...Mayfair...but is that really necessary?" he mocked her and he knew it.

"You'd know all about bloody Mayfair, wouldn't you?" she snarled back. "You have absolutely no idea."

"I brought your food back. The, er, house elf you met has provided me with..."

"Not good enough, eh?" she grimaced. "Fine then, if the Gollum-wannabe can get you summat better," she shrugged and took the bag from his hands, clearly expecting him to leave again but he had no intention of doing so. It had been unfortunate enough to having killed her partner, even if that had been a sort of accident but it was no coincidence, and certainly not the area, which had made her open the door with a knife in her hand. There was something else and since she had helped him after he had helped her, it was now, in a way, his turn. And he still had to keep an eye on her. Couldn't have her blurting out the secrets of the wizarding world.

Would be just like them to let him go free for the murder of not only Albus Dumbledore but all the others in the line of duty and then sending him to Azkaban and the Dementors for not observing the Statute of Secrecy.

He pushed past her into her kitchen and the sight surprised him. He had expected a sty. He had thought he would see piles of dirty plates, towers of empty, dirty pots and mugs or cups, five to fifteen cats running around and the daughter sitting amongst all of those things but it was clean. Cleaner than his house, so clean he would eat from the floor if need be. He eyed her for a moment, and behind the curtain of his hair, curiously.

He had no idea who he was dealing with. A foul-mouthed, vulgar woman with no education whatsoever, who had a tiny daughter and who had let herself be abused by a man who had, possibly, fathered that daughter. But also someone who put the bags neatly on a working surface and unpacked it quickly, eyeing the mouldy bread only slightly before putting it in the bread bin.

"You won't eat that. I only brought it to..."

"I'll cut the mould off, don't worry," she huffed. "What's it to you? You have Gollum-wannabe bring you some kind of French patè, probably. Or foy grah. Whatever that is. Chickens flying in your mouth."

He arched his eyebrows, and leaned, heavier this time, on his cane. He took a deep breath. "Erwin," he said softly and, as he had expected, his elf appeared by his side only a second later.

"What can Erwin do for Master Severus Sir?" he bowed low, too low for his taste.

"Bring some food here. Fresh bread and some...pumpkin pasties. I'll never eat all those you brought. And half the pumpkin. No, make soup and pie from half the pumpkin and bring it. And..."

"Food for nasty woman and healing, helpful child?" he asked curiously, his ears twitching. He'd have to ask him about the child again. There was nothing helpful or healing in a slobbering, drooling child.

"Yes," he replied.

"No, you don't have to..." the woman tried to argue but in her eyes, there was a rather familiar gleam which he had seen so often in that town, in that street but then her shoulders slumped ever so slightly and her breasts seemed to be even more visible. "I can't pay for it."

Severus said nothing.

"And I won't pay you in any other way than money either," she added hotly.

"What other way?" he asked, his eyebrows arching towards his hairline more and more.

"You fucking know what I mean," she hissed. "I won't give you that either."

"Is that why you've opened the door with a knife in your hand then?" he asked, sounding bored.

She shrugged. "Rob said that Kyle owed him two-hundred quid but I don't know about that and now Rob wants it back because Kyle is dead and I can't pay for it..."

"Ah," Severus said quietly, interrupting her with a stern glance and he put the few coins he had found on the surface next to the bag which she had not yet fully unpacked. "For the bread."

She sighed. "Yeah, alright. Thanks," she shrugged.

"You were saying?"

"Nothing. I wasn't saying anything," she said, and because he seemed to be getting too well acquainted with her bosom and because her legs were too exposed, he raised his wand and waved it over her. Just changing her clothes again. Just to a bit more modesty.

"What the fuck, Snape? Change them back!" she shouted and he suddenly felt something on his good knee, something pulling and holding on to it and instead of focusing on her dark blue trousers and the classic blouse, as well as the flat loafers, he watched how the child tried to pull herself up on his leg and looked with big, murky brown eyes up at him.

"Snep," she said and smiled with a bit of drool coming from her mouth.

"Snape," he corrected but the child grinned and raised her arms towards him.

"Snep."

"Leave him be, Burgundy," she said hotly, her energy and her anger probably still running high.

"You want to intimidate a man who obviously wants your money – or your body – by wearing basically nothing?" he asked sarcastically.

"I don't wanna intimidate no one. I wanna tell him to bloody fuck off and leave me and me daughter be," she spat.

"Not with those clothes," he answered slowly.

"It's what I feel comfortable in," she argued and the energy, and anger, seemed to be gone for the time being and Snape felt a cruel smile creeping on to his face as he looked around the kitchen. For lack of anything else, he unpacked the groceries from the bag and put that tiny plastic bag on the table then.

A wave of his wand later, he had cut the bag in ten little pieces and another wave of his wand later, it had turned into a perfect replica of Muggle money. Ten perfect, crisp, almost genuine ten pound notes. Almost genuine.

"What the fuck?" she asked, her mouth hanging open.

"It is not real money," he replied, bored again. "And people will notice but he won't," his cruel smirk widened. "He will come today?" he asked the daughter, standing on wobbly feet, holding on to his calf.

She nodded, frowning. "What's it to you?"

"I will stay here and make sure that he thinks it's real money. The coppers, as you call them, can do the rest." The child was bouncing on the balls of her feet and grinning up at him, drooling, slobbering but seeming perfectly happy.

"What?" she shrieked.

"Some Muggles are better off behind bars," he answered simply and looked at the child trying to climb up his leg.

xx


	9. Chapter 9

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 7 (with counterfeit money, a rather startling revelation and a cat on the wall)

xx

He saw her stiffen as soon as there was the knock on the door. The child had, in the meantime, managed to climb up as far as his knee and as he had sat down, even onto his lap and the woman had taken her from it and hugged to herself. He had not yet perceived her as an easily scared woman but it seemed, at that moment, that despite her exterior, inside, she knew that she was nothing compared to a thug who wanted her money in any way that a man could possibly the warm body of a woman. It was silly, of course. He had seen women cursing men into oblivion and he had seen women who were crueller and more determined than any man had ever wanted to be. However, that, it seemed, was more zeal than actual might or power. Zeal to be liked, to follow, zeal to reach a goal, ambition, lust for power in any way that it could be reached, looking like innocent flowers all the time, but being serpents underneath it.

She seemed different. A woman without any kind of ambition apart from keeping her kitchen (and he didn't know about the rest of the house) spotless. Wiping out all the spots that even the child made.

He couldn't have sat more than one hour and he couldn't have said more than three words during that hour. Not that she had said more, except when she babbled to her daughter. Most of the time, she seemed one of the sensible people who talked to children as if they weren't completely brain-damaged but now, in whatever it was that she felt, she seemed to use that infernal, dreadful baby talk that especially older women seemed to employ. Not that he knew much about it. He just sat at the kitchen table and sipped the tea she had made and ate a biscuit that Erwin had popped over. He watched with great curiosity the way that she seemed to gobble them down, however and there was one part of the kitchen that wasn't entirely spotless. A pot, half-full or -empty with something that smelled not quite as fresh as it should have. No surprise then that she stuffed herself – and her child – with the biscuits Erwin had indubitably baked himself.

He wondered if he had tried to find more money, had gone to Gringott's himself if he had realised, earlier under what kind of circumstances she truly lived. Everyone was poor around there but that poor? And if she truly was that poor, why had she brought him food? Was it, possibly, only the gratitude or a good heart that beat underneath all that...slutty clothing? Not that she looked slutty now. What a difference a few clothes could make...

But, now, she was stiffening and even though she didn't look at him and didn't send him a begging glance, he understood that she was, on some kind of level, glad he was there. Instead, she shook the stiffness from her body and squared her shoulder before she set her child carefully on the floor. He arched his eyebrows. Another person who knew how to hide her feelings, obviously. She didn't even look back at him when she walked, weirdly due to her flat shoes, no doubt, to her front door. He only spared a glance at the girl and, out of habit, possibly, he cast a charm on her and on the floor with only the flick of his wand and made sure that she couldn't climb up anything and hurt herself before he followed the woman. He stood a little behind her when she opened the door.

The man who stood at the other side of the door was large and beefy, red-faced, with Malfoy-blonde hair slicked back. His eyes were pale blue but lacked, somehow, the coldness that those of others – who seemed to be the same sort of male – held. Severus hadn't used any kind of Legilimency since he had fled from Hogwarts but now seemed to be the right moment, and an opportune moment. The man stared at him and his eyes went icy cold suddenly and Severus could just slip inside. It was easy and the images began to flash unfiltered.

Most of those were unimportant to Severus and he waded through them hurriedly. It was a few things that surprised him. A sort of jealousy when that man he had killed, kissed (and was being seen by the beefy man) the woman he was now with. Dirty dreams, it seemed, featuring her heavily. Money that he had given to the other man for a lewd picture of the woman and which he kept, in less than pristine condition underneath his pillow. The vision of her in his mind was more beautiful than the real version standing there before him. It wasn't any money he wanted, Severus noticed with a modicum of disgust. It was her he wanted.

He pulled out from the his mind and knew that no amount of money could keep him away. He thought he could intimidate him into being with him. Force her, make her. And seeing her...no. She had helped him, even if it was because he had done something to her but she would be protected from another male who would, most likely, hit her and treat her badly.

Not, mind, because he thought so much of her that she specifically, shouldn't be treated badly. But because women, when they were, grew weaker and weaker until there was absolutely no spirit left in them. Until there was absolutely nothing left in them, not even enough strength to fit for their children. Not even that.

Almost lazily, he flicked his wand and the man was under a Confundus.

"Give him the money," he said clearly, instructing her, as the man only watched with glassy eyes.

"What did you do to him?" she asked, looking for her shoulder.

"Just give him the money," he hissed and watched as her shoulders went very square again.

"What the hell is wrong with him?"

"I told you he'd think it was real money. Give him the money. Now," he instructed, employing the voice he had last used in a classroom.

He could see her back rising as she took a deep breath.

"And speak to him normally."

"Here's your money, Rob," she said, her voice only trembling the tiniest bit. "Two-hundred quid. Now fuck off."

"Take the money, Rob," Severus said, pointing his wand at him one more time and the beefy man took the notes from the woman's hands, bowed his head and walked away and she didn't even hesitate for one second before she shut the door noisily and faced him.

"What was that?" she asked, her shoulders slumping, but her pointy fingernail digging into his chest.

"He took the money," he said with what could almost be construed as a shrug.

"But..."

He sighed. "It is called a Confundus Charm. He will be confused for the next minutes..."

"And if he wakes up from this confusion? Then what? He will come back here and..."

"No."

"What no? Of course he will. If he..."

"He will only remember that he came here and received the money and will be surprised that he got it. Nothing more, nothing less."

She eyed him curiously. "You can do that to people?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You're dangerous," she said in a deeper voice than usual and arched her eyebrows. "This is illegal."

"No."

"Yes, it fucking is. Changing the way people see things," she exhaled audibly. "That's not what you should be allowed to do." She stared at him and suddenly, she smiled. "But I'm glad you did it anyway."

He arched his eyebrows back at her and gave her a tiny nod. He understood her language, he understood what she was saying. Normal standards did not apply to such situations, as she knew very well and he knew very well. She knew about how different methods had to be used in different situations. How one could never fully live after the book of rules – not even one's own rules. He gave her another nod and left her house without saying another word.

xx

She swore she never had wanted to hurt the child. It wasn't in her nature to hurt anyone if he or she didn't fully deserve it.

But – if a child pulled her tail, she got angry. Pulling on tails hurt. And she merely acted on feline impulse when her claws had dug deep into the child's skin. She hadn't wanted to. Honest. Every students at Hogwarts knew never to pick her up and never pull her tail. They knew this, they kept their distance. Not this child. This child had petted her and scratched behind her ears and when she had least suspected it, he had pulled on her tail. What was she to do? Just sit there and yowl because it hurt or scratch the child a little? That answer was extremely simple.

She had left the rebuilding of Hogwarts, or rather the over-seeing of the rebuilding of Hogwarts in Filius's small, but capable, hands and had, once more, ventured towards Spinner's End. Had been informed that he had woken up, that he was fine and that his health was, apart from an almost shattered knee, nearly restored. She had changed into her Animagus-form the moment she had arrived via Apparition, unseen by anyone, and had waited. Had scratched on Severus's door, had jumped up and looked into the window, scampered around the house, into the tiny garden but there was no movement inside. Not even the house elf could be seen and so, she had sat herself down on a sunny bit of wall and had waited. Maybe he was out for a bit, maybe he was inside, and she could see either from her spot. Unfortunately, she had also been able to be seen by children, and adults, and one of those children had, on a dare she supposed, pulled her tail.

Indignant was best used to describe how she felt now. Plus, she hurt all over. Stupid child. Deserved the scratch. But the sunny spot soothed her nerves and she let herself rest for a moment, observing only through a tiny slit between her cat-eyelids.

Through sleepy half-closed lids, she could see the door on one of the house across the road, a little further down, be opened and, opening her eyes fully, she could even see that it was Severus emerging from the house and the vulgar woman following him, with her baby on her hip again.

"Snape," the woman cried and if it hadn't been for her excellent hearing, she would have missed it. All her senses, all her instincts were instantly alert and she pushed herself up on her paws, watching.

Severus turned around and seemed to look at her for a moment before he spoke in a low voice that not even she could catch but the woman frowned and, surprisingly, stood silently. Severus seemed to speak again and the woman grew pale.

"What do you mean?" she heard her and missed, again, Severus's answer. Damn man for being so quiet. And he would recognise her, so she didn't dare to get nearer. Such as it was, he began walking towards his house again and he would pass her at any minute. Silently, she jumped from the wall as she watched him walking and the woman, once more, following him.

"Wait," she cried and Minerva's eyes, even her cat-eyes, could witness that she looked anguished. Angry. Surprised. "You can repeat it as many times as you like but it doesn't make believe you any-fucking-more. How do you know anyway?"

Severus spoke too softly. He always did. Always had and she wanted to listen more closely but jumping, still, was out of the question and she knew she only had to wait. He never tolerated such behaviour for long before he simply turned his back and walked away. Same as he did now. The woman, in astonishingly tasteful clothing as she could see now that she was coming closer, followed him, the baby obviously enjoying the wild ride on the hip.

"Stop following me," she could hear him hiss and a moment later, his eyes fell on her and he stared at her. "And you best go back where you came from before I hex your tail off."

She glared back at him even though she knew that the effect was more than halved by being a cat. But she couldn't possibly change back there, in the open daylight. The woman, breathing angrily, had come up to him, directly in front of her but she didn't even pay attention to her. The child did, though, and made those noises only children could make when they saw something they wanted, they liked, and Minerva, instinctively, took a step back, as far back as she could without tumbling from the wall and arched her back and hissed. She had enough of children for that day.

"How the fuck do you know that he fucking fancies me?" the woman hissed and Minerva had to dodge the child's hands and feet as they were struggling towards her and the woman only grasped her tighter but did nothing to stop her from making those want-noises.

Severus said nothing, but only looked at her, at the cat, and took a deep breath. "I want all of you away from me. You too, Minerva. Leave. I don't care if you..."

"Are you talking to the bloody cat?" the woman asked. "What is wrong with you?" she bordered, apparently, on hysteria.

Severus sighed. His face was the mask of neutrality and she wasn't sure whether he would explode at any moment, or whether he was merely thinking. She paid close attention and waited for him to do something, say something.

xx

He had said it with so much conviction, with so much bloody certainty that he had to be sure. But Rob? Fancying her? Threatening her because he fancied her? That didn't make sense. No bloody sense at all and then Snape talked to the cat and...he had called her Minerva. Minerva had been the name of the hag. Had mocked the name of her daughter and had been called Minerva herself. Speaking of arrogance.

But it couldn't be that the cat was that woman. People couldn't change into animals and...her head hurt from all of this. Snape suddenly making money from garbage, Rob doing everything Snape told him to do, Snape telling her that Rob fancied her (and she still wanted to know how he knew) and now a cat Snape talked to and which was called Minerva. And he still hadn't answered her. He couldn't just walk away.

Not that it was any of her business. None of this. And none of this was good for her. She shook her head gently to herself and at her daughter who wanted to play with the cat and shrugged.

"Come on, Burgundy," she said softly and without another word, she turned around and left. Life had been simpler when Snape hadn't come and she wondered whether it had been right to help him at all.

xx

He wanted to roll his eyes. She would – without a doubt – think him mad as a hatter. He shouldn't care but he had dropped the bomb. He had told her that the thug fancied her. Had revealed what he had seen in his head. He shouldn't care that she was the first person in over twenty years that had – selflessly – helped him. And now was certainly not the time to think about that. She was a vulgar little cow from across the street and would, without a doubt, end up with that beefy, red-faced man. Would end up like she had before. With another child from another man and being hit and abused by him. Stupid women. Always ended up the same way.

The cat – Minerva – leapt from the wall and strode towards his front door, sitting there with her front paws neatly next to one another and stared at him expectantly.

He rolled his eyes for real this time but almost too obediently, followed the cat and let her into his house where she immediately transformed into her human form.

"What did she want, Severus?" she asked, fixing her hair as she watched him stumble into his house. That bloody (oh, he began now) had to be healed. It wouldn't do for him to limp all the time and it was possibly nothing that he couldn't do himself. If only his Strengthening Potion could be brewed a little faster. Not that he needed it at the moment, but it would give him clarity, and more strength to go on.

"I think the question is," he replied smoothly, "what you want."

"We hadn't finished talking. I came for a talk."

"I don't think there's anything left to say, is there?" he asked, longing to sit down, rest his knee. Ask Erwin is there was any analgesic cream around. Find some for himself. Put it on and get started on...what had he wanted to get started on? Packing? The Strengthening Potion needed another week. Anything for the knee could be taken beforehand but would probably take longer to brew as well.

"Severus, what is with that Muggle woman?" she asked and watched him with barely concealed concern.

"She's a Muggle woman," he replied. "There is nothing with her."

"But she knows about magic?"

"She watched how I killed her partner," he dead-panned. Maybe this would get her out. Maybe this would be the final straw which would make her lose interest, would cut all his ties to the British Wizarding Population so he could go. Somewhere else. Where nobody knew him.

"What?"

"I killed her partner. The father of her child about nine or ten months ago. It was only a tripping hex but he fell and died," he shrugged. "It is what you'd expect from a Death Eater, isn't it? Killing Muggles."

She stood, dumbstruck for a moment but then her shoulders straightened and she glared at him. "What did he do to her before you killed him?" she asked, and he cursed the day she had got to know him – too well.

"He hit her," he replied with a shrug, admitting, to his own ears, almost defeat.

"I see. In that case, alright," she shrugged back. "Severus, there is your old position open for you at Hogwarts."

"And what makes you think I would want to return there?" he replied immediately, in some ways expecting such a thing to come from her, sooner rather than later.

"I don't think at all," she replied. "Could I bother your house elf for a cup of tea?"

He arched his eyebrows and his expression was, he knew, stony. "No."

"Fine," she said. "Then we'll talk without tea."

"No," he said. "You leave now. You said I was free, correct? There would be no charges pressed against me, correct?"

"Yes," she answered and he knew she was confused. Let her be. Let her be confused, he thought. "But..."

"No buts anymore. You will leave this instant or do you want to be...obliviated?"

"What's..."

"LEAVE!" he thundered and he pointed at the door with his left hand, while his right slowly took the wand from his pocket and aimed it at her. "Leave."

"Severus, I...I only wanted to talk...offer you..."

"You can offer whomever you like whatever you like but the only thing you can, and will, offer me now is your departure."

"Severus..."

He felt his temper snap ever so slightly and even though he had sworn himself not to hurt another person anymore, at least not when he could help it, he flung the door open with his wand and pointed his wand at her then, and, with a little more force than strictly necessary, threw her, literally, from his house. She began to fly as a human being but mid-flight, she changed into her Animagus form and some part of him was glad to see her land on her paws.

But only some parts.

He spelled his door shut with a bang and took a deep breath. He didn't need her to offer him anything and he didn't need her around there. He only needed that week to finish the potion and then he would be off. Finally.

xx


	10. Chapter 10

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 8 (with the prodigal son, a meddling dead man and a hag or not a hag)

xx

She had to swallow around the lump in her throat when she read the display of her mobile phone. She had to sound normal on the phone anyway. It wouldn't do for David to hear in her voice that she was confused about the entire matter with Snape and magic and that she still missed him dreadfully. She still missed David terribly. The other end of the country with his posh father. She didn't want him to hear her pain in her voice upon losing her child. Burgundy's older brother. Two years that she had last seen him.

Rationally, she knew that it was better he had left this area as she had moved in with Kyle. Kyle would have made his life fucking difficult. Kyle had resented David and Kyle had hated children of any kind. Kyle had hated anything that had taken her attention away from him. And he would have fallen into the wrong circles. She wouldn't have been able to keep more than an eye out for him with Kyle and her living together.

She snorted as she picked up the phone slowly. She should have never moved in with Kyle. Should have never started anything with him. Even if it had brought her Burgundy, it had lost her David.

She swallowed once more and pressed the button on the phone.

"Hello David?"

"Mum, hi," her boy replied. So it was one of those perfunctory calls. One of those, yeah, mum, I'm fine, mum, dad's great, mum, he's bought me a new horse or car or whatever, mum. She got those calls about once a month and she bloody hated them. She should have chosen her own child over any man. But, in the moment that she had decided to move in with Kyle, there had been no decision at all. The moment before she had announced it, he had said he'd go to bloody Bristol to live with bloody Hugh now. Not even a visit in those two years. Nothing. Not a single one. As if he wasn't missing her at all and she could not afford the train down. And while Kyle had been alive...

"How is everything?" she asked, sounding her cheerful, grumpy, usual self. At least she hoped she did.

"Er, okay, I s'pose," he answered and she could almost see him shrug. "How's everything there?"

"Fine," she lied. He knew Kyle was dead. He knew he had a little sister. She had even sent him a picture. But he had never come to see her. He didn't know that Snape had come back there – she even doubted he knew Snape existed – and that she was assaulted by Rob (for whatever reason) and that she had been part of a bloody crime.

"Erm, okay," he said slowly and she could almost see him, his dirty-blonde hair falling in his face, covering his eyes, a shoulder pulled upwards to the ear, a hand waving lazily about.

"And your father?" she asked for lack of anything else to ask and because she truly wanted to avoid any awkward silences.

"He's, erm, okay, I think."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I mean, no, he is okay," she could feel that he was blushing and that there was something more. Something he wasn't telling her.

"What's the matter, David?" she asked bluntly, glad that she didn't have to watch her daughter as well, that the girl was taking a nap and that she could, for once, focus solely on David. If he wanted to talk – and that was a big if.

"Nothing," he said and she sighed.

"I'm not entirely stupid and even if you decide to fucking ignore it, I'm still your mother," she argued hotly.

"Fuck off," he muttered.

"I will not," she said sternly. "What is the matter?"

"Dad doesn't like the girl I'm seeing," he mumbled but Christine was quite certain she had understood him correctly.

"You're seeing someone?" she asked, swallowing around the lump again. Had never told her such things. Not once. It had to be quite serious if he bloody voluntarily offered such information. She had to take another deep breath and wanted to continue speaking when she heard him mumble again.

"He says she's below me and that I shouldn't...you know."

"For fuck's sake," she grumbled to herself, holding the phone a bit away from her mouth. So obviously David had fallen for a girl from his own class and Hugh, who seemed to be forgetting where he had bloody sprung from, didn't think her good enough. Absolute, utter arse of a man. Just because he had made some money didn't mean that...

"D'you wanna come home?" she asked earnestly, swallowing her anger.

"Bloody good that'd be, Mum. She's down here, inn't she?" he replied, annoyed.

"What then?" she tried to sound maternal. Not her own mother-maternal. Just maternal.

"Couldn't you talk to Dad?"

"And he will listen to me? No, David, I couldn't talk to him," she had hoped it would be different this time. Him, really confiding in her, but instead, so like his father, only ever asking for favours. Favours of any kind. "Do you honestly think that if I call him and tell him to leave you be that he will? He won't. He will do the exact opposite and you should bloody well know that."

"But Mum...I..."

"I won't talk to him and you know the reasons. Or if you don't know the reasons, ask your sainted father," she hissed. "But you can come home any time you like."

"She's here," he spat.

"Then stay there and fight it out with him. You..." she kept the rest of the sentence inside herself. It would only do more damage anyhow. Wouldn't do her no good, wouldn't do him no good. "I need to make Burgundy's tea. You take care of yourself."

"Mum...I..."

"I said I have to make your little sister's tea. She's hungry," that much was a lie, at least. But David didn't know it. Didn't know that his little half-sister was asleep and happy and...there.

"Yeah okay, bye Mum."

"Bye bye, David."

xx

He slowly stirred the Strengthening Potion. It was a beautiful grey colour, almost the shade of dark silver and he only needed a few drops of sheep's blood to turn it into iridescent mother-of-pearl shade. There had been some left when he had gone back to Hogwarts in the last summer and he knew it kept that long. A quiet pop, just as he pulled the stirring-rod from the cauldron announced the house elf's presence. He could feel him getting nearer even though he couldn't hear Erwin's steps.

"Food finished, Master Severus Sir," he said almost obediently.

"Thank you, Erwin. I will be up in a few minutes," he replied automatically, letting the concoction simmer for a moment as he turned to look for the blood. He didn't notice how the elf's eyes widened and how, with a snap of his fingers, a brown vial appeared in his long, spindly fingers.

"You's not making what Erwin think you's making, is you?" he asked, and Severus turned to look at him. He still wore that old, chequered table cloth tied around his body, leaving ugly shoulders and upper arms free.

"I think I have told you enough times that what I brew is only my business," he replied acidly.

"Not when's you brews this evil stuff. Wills only harm Master Severus Sir and Master Severus Sir know it," he replied just as acidly.

"Go attend to whatever food you're making," he replied, his eyes focusing on the vial.

"No," the elf said angrily.

"I command you to..."

"You's know that you's cannot command me. Erwin have very clear orders from Master Albus Sir. Master Albus Sir said, Keep Master Severus Sir from doing harm to himself and feed him and make sure Master Severus Sir eats and don't take vile potion. This is vile potion," he argued and the elf had the audacity to glare at him. "Let's you do it in Hogwarts because Master Severus Sir needed more strength than any other human being ever but not now. Now Master Severus Sir need rest and relaxation and baby's healing powers and laughter and chocolate. Erwin make chocolate cake the way Master Severus Sir like it. With lots of dark chocolate and milk chocolate and white chocolate bits in. And Master Severus Sir eat all that Erwin give him. Erwin good elf. Only observing orders," he bowed low. "Master Albus Sir said potion is bad for Master Severus Sir and only to be taken when nothing else available."

"He had no idea," Severus mumbled, trying to figure out how to best pull his wand and summon the vial of sheep's blood to him before the elf realised it.

"Portrait say," Erwin argued back with a determined glint in his eye. "Is addictive, portrait of Master Albus Sir say. And is addictive. Make you want more and more until Master Severus Sir cannot lives without it. Is not good because Master Severus Sir need to live long life."

"Whatever for?" he snapped. "You're a bloody elf. You don't get to give me orders."

"Not orders, Master Severus Sir. Erwin take care of you. Erwin bound to take care of Master Severus Sir. Erwin make promise and Erwin is elf who keep promises."

"I release you from that promise," he replied, hoping this would do the trick and distract him enough that he couldn't see that he was slowly letting his wand slide from his potion but instead, the elf shook his head with a smirk.

"Cannot be released because Erwin made promise to Master Albus Sir and Master Albus Sir cannot releases Erwin," he smirked (something Severus had never seen in an elf before he had met Erwin) and then, quite suddenly, his expression changed to an almost vicious scowl. "No, you's not..."

"I'll give you clothes," he threatened.

The elf shrugged. "Bound to you by Master Albus Sir. Master Albus Sir cannot unbounds Erwin," he shrugged a bony shoulder again and suddenly, the vial was gone from his fingers.

Severus glared. "Where did you...I throw you out."

"Cans throw me out, Erwin wills come back again as long as Master Severus Sir lives and if Master Severus Sir die, Erwin die with him, maybe," he smiled gently and suddenly came nearer, putting his elf-hand on his human one. "Comes to eat tea Erwin made and afterwards a bit of cake. Tomorrow, Erwin's get baby-magic to Master Severus Sir."

"No. I forbid it," he scowled back.

"The baby-magic?" the elf asked. "You canst forbid it, but you cannot evade it."

He took a deep breath. Maybe he had underestimated the house elf so far, even if he had lived with and close to him for almost a year. But he had never watched how much he was being watched and it seemed that there was more going on with Erwin than he had known. Yes, the elf had complained about his usage of Strengthening Potion, he had made comments about the addictive-factor, about the way he overstretched himself, made himself thin for other people, but it had been regular house-elf-talk, had it not? Maybe Erwin truly was more than a normal house elf. He obviously couldn't be set free with clothing and he couldn't be sent away. He lived on one order: take care of Severus Snape. An order he had got from Albus Dumbledore. An order that would never be taken off him.

Typically Albus Dumbledore. Had that man ever done anything but force people (and elves) to do things they had no chance but do?

He shook his head to himself. A conversation like this didn't make much sense. If he put the potion in a dormant state, he could add the sheep's blood later. And getting sheep's blood should be no problem at all. He only had to distract the elf.

"What is that baby-magic you were talking about?" he asked conversationally, and moved slightly away from the cauldron. He had ten minutes before it would be ruined, ten minutes in which he could it put into a dormant state. Ten minutes to get Erwin to leave him alone.

"Baby like you. That baby, not all babies. And baby which like you will makes you laugh. Baby heal scars that are invisible. Deep soul-scars."

"How?"

"Baby do that with their magic. Baby cuddle and baby trust," the house elf's eyes glimmered with something Severus couldn't exactly describe. "Master Albus Sir knew not or would used it. Master Albus Sir was sometimes narrow...oh! Oh! Oh!" the elf suddenly banged his head against the nearest wall and wailed loudly. He had never seen him do it. But then again, he had never heard him talk that much about Albus Dumbledore either.

"Erwin, stop," he said loudly and the elf, suddenly, ceased from smashing his head. He cocked his head to the side and watched the elf, puzzled. "Why do you listen to this but not to the rest I say?"

"Master Albus Sir adamant, Master Severus Sir. Erwin have to listen to Master Severus Sir on any accounts but well-being and clothes and sending away," he replied, a big bump growing on his forehead. It almost looked as if Erwin was an elf-unicorn-hybrid.

"I see. So if I tell you that I'd like my tea, I mean, dinner, in exactly five minutes..."

"Erwin hurry and set table. Not you's not making potion anymore," he said with a glare and suddenly popped away.

Severus didn't much care what the elf had said about baby-magic. He didn't doubt for a moment that he had invisible scars but those were supposed to be there, not supposed to be healed by a drooling, annoying child. He deserved every single one of those scars. Still – his plan was there. He would finish the potion, pack up and leave. They could all just go to hell, he thought, as he waved his wand over his potion.

xx

It was the most Gryffindor of all Gryffindor-plans – but she only had this and it had to work. She had even consulted a book and had tried the Fides-Spell on Poppy who, in exchange, had been allowed to treat her sore backside. It had worked. She had told Poppy something in confidence (which wasn't truly a secret. Everyone knew that she had had a crush on Magnus Manders, the famous Quidditch star when she had been a girl) and Poppy hadn't been able to tell anyone about their conversation. It was completely safe. The only trouble was to get close enough to cast the spell, and then, have the vulgar woman listen to her at all. Without that vulgar woman, she had no chance but to get to Severus once more. Somehow, he seemed to trust her more than her, the upright teacher he had known most of his life. The way over the house elves was shut. Erwin didn't say one word, only clenched his lips together even when she had him summoned (which had taken more than half an hour) and had said nothing. It was the vulgar woman, or being flung from his house again.

That boy. Honestly. She only wanted to help. And he should know that, like him, she didn't always know which words to choose. That she didn't always find the right words to say, that sentimentality and tearful apologies were not like her, just as much as they weren't for him. He should have understood her. And he hadn't and he had even let the vulgar woman into his house when she had wanted to talk to him alone.

Still – she was his only option.

She stood in front of the door, having passed a rather depressing looking yard out front and hesitated a moment before knocking. She had only, so far, fought with this vulgar woman. They hadn't said one civil word to one another. But she, like herself, seemed to be concerned about Severus and that should be enough to form a kind of alliance. Allies counted more than friends. She didn't need to like this woman in order to work with her. And Severus belonged back at Hogwarts, or at least somewhere he could be kept from loneliness and that certainly wasn't this street. This vulgar woman was her ticket to this.

She steeled herself and knocked on the door, forcefully. The paint was chipped off in places and the entire house could use a new coat of it in any case. She didn't want to be closed-minded and if that woman asked for seven pounds...she sighed. Money was something which didn't seem to be there in abundance. Or at all. She had to keep this in mind, she thought.

The door was suddenly opened a crack and a pair of eyes looked at her. "What d'you want?" the vulgar woman asked, but at least she didn't use any of those vulgar words.

"A talk, please," she replied evenly and tried to sound nice. "I just want to tell you, and hear, a few things about Severus."

The vulgar woman opened the door a little wider but not wide enough to let her in. "What d'you wanna know?"

"Do you mind if we don't discuss this on the street?" Minerva asked back and the woman shrugged and opened the door a little wider, again. The baby was not on her hip.

"Come in then," she said gruffly. "But if you came to..."

"I didn't come here to fight," she replied immediately. "I am concerned about Severus."

"And what makes you think I am?"

"The way you looked at and fussed over him," she said with a slight smile and it was easy to raise her arm and point the wand which was hidden in her sleeve at the vulgar woman. It was easy to think _Fides conversatio_ in her head and it was quite easy to see the magic settle between them. She could speak in strictest confidence. The vulgar woman would not be able to relay anything to anyone.

She was ushered (or pushed) into the kitchen and was shown a seat and there was the baby, in one of those baby-seats Muggles used. High up, playing with a stuffed animal.

"So?" the vulgar woman asked, an eyebrow arched.

"Tea?"

"No."

"Well then, straight to business, I suppose," she sighed. "I apologise for fighting. But..."

"What? We fought. You're a stuck up hag and..."

"Excuse me, but I am no hag. I am a regular..."

"Hag."

"Witch," she sighed. "Obviously you labour under the common Muggle misconception that hags are..."

"Smaller words, I didn't go to bloody University," the vulgar woman argued and glared at her. Minerva took another deep breath before she hexed her.

"I do not know how much you know about Severus."

"We went to..."

"If you'd stop interrupting me?" she glared at the woman and now, for the first time, really looked at her. There were bags underneath her eyes and she wore the same clothes she had the day before at Severus's. Her eyes were blood-shot. Her voice softened immediately. "Have you been crying?" she asked, quietly.

"What's it to you?"

"Have you been crying?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper.

xx


	11. Chapter 11

_**The usual disclaimers apply**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 9 (with a conversation)

xx

"Next thing you're telling me is that you're Miss bloody Moneyepenny and he's really James Fucking Bond."

"What?" the woman countered, her cup of tea – the one Christine had offered her graciously – hovering in the air.

"No, you do look more like Jean Brodie, come to think of it," she took a sip of her tea. "I don't believe you."

"And I didn't believe you when you said that you hadn't been crying. We're even on that," the woman's eyes grew cold and flinty.

"So? I was crying, maybe but it's none of your fucking business and I think it is my business if a spy is living across the street."

"He was a spy, he was seemingly killed and he came here, from wherever, to recover. If you weren't a Muggle..."

"That word again...when you say it, you look like the grumpy housekeeper in the children's film...the one that was just on the telly the other day," she replied immediately. "I don't even know what a Muggle is..."

"A person...

"Without any magic. You told me. I'm not daft," she hissed angrily. "I still don't see why..."

"Why I tell you this. I explained this as well and if you'd cared to listen..."

"If you'd cared to not treat me like a fucking imbecile, we'd been further. Snape needs help. That much I got. Snape is not well. I get that, you hag...and no, don't interrupt me. I know that on your terms, you're not a hag. But this is on my terms and you came into my house. If you want me to treat you with respect, you will stop looking at me – or my daughter – like we're the shit that came out of the world's biggest arse. We're not. I get it, you tell me that Snape was a spy for one side and for the other side. I get double-spying. I get triple-spying. I went to school for a bit. No need to get so up in the air about it, just because you teach. Snape was a spy and he barely made it out alive and I found him when he was barely alive. Thank you, I understand..."

"What you fail to understand is..."

"Yeah, what I fail to understand is why you care? Why did you ask I was crying? Why do you care about him? I know you said you tried to kill him. You said that you never paid attention to him or his health when he was wherever that funny school of yours is. That's what I fail to understand."

The hag drew a deep breath and took a sip of tea before she exhaled and put the cup carefully on the table. No saucer for her. "Because I should have been his friend. Because I dropped him lik a..."

"That's your reasoning? Friends stand by..."

"This friend killed my best friend and you tell me I should have stood by him? By which? My best friend or my almost-best-friend?" the hag shouted and glared. "Which, Miss Lightfoot?"

"Do you think I care? But you come here, absolutely uppity and tell me what to do? What happened? You met me once and you tell me all about him? What he went through? What he did? Do you know what we call someone like you up here? A grass."

"I came here for your support! I know you want Severus to be well and I want him to be well. I don't want to be your friend and if you don't want to tell me why you have been crying, don't. I do not care about it at all. But I care about Severus because he was my friend and because I want to be his friend again."

"Why me then?"

"Because he trusts you. Merlin knows why but he does. And I have to admit that I cannot manage getting him help on my own."

Christine shrugged lazily. "If you came down from your fucking high horse you might."

"It's not about high horses or thestrals or arrogance, Miss Lightfoot."

"It's Ms..."

"Ms Lightfoot. It's about him throwing me from his house," her voice softened. "And me knowing that his house elf will want to..."

"You know what you're throwing me into? All of you? A week ago, I wasn't concerned about anything but Rob wanting two-fucking-hundred quid from me. A week ago, I wasn't sure how to feed my child but I would've managed. Then he comes here, tells me, out of nowhere, that he's a bloomin' wizard. And I think, nice, that's how he killed Kyle. Maybe he can get rid of Rob for me. Next thing, you show up and Jeanny morphs into Bewitched and you're...wha'ever. Then there's a 'house elf' my baby is taken with, Snape, my baby's taken with. A strange creature which looks like a perfect hybrid between Gollum and E.T., which, by the way, wants to kidnap my baby on a regular basis because baby-magic is good for Snape. You're suddenly a cat and then a hag again. Now you tell me that Snape is a spy, that he's fought someone who's not really alive and not dead yet, but at the same time, worked for him and killed the other person. So basically, you tell me Snape worked for SMERSH and killed M at the same time?"

"With the exception of the last sentence, which I didn't understand," the hag said snottily, "this is correct but..."

"I'm not finished, for fuck's sake!" Christine yelled and banged her cup on the table. "You turn my entire life upside-fucking-down and expect me to just swallow it? I swallow a lot of things but not that."

The hag frowned. "I am well aware that you are confused about all the facts that we, Severus and me, have told you. I cannot, however, tell you that all of this is untrue. I could obliviate you, but..."

"What's that now?"

"Wiping all your memories of me, of Severus, of magic," she sighed. "But this is not what I had planned to do."

"You can do that?" she asked incredulously, looking anxiously at her daughter playing with her cuddly on the floor. Could people just do that? Wipe things from your memory? And if that was true...could this hag wipe...no. Too many things to wipe.

"Not only that," the hag grinned cat-like.

"Yeah, I know. You can be a cat if you want to and you..."

"Yes. For instance. And plenty of other things but this is not the reason why I'm here," she said solemnly.

"You think in some strange universe that I could help Snape with whatever ails him," she finished the sentence, still looking anxiously at her daughter instead of the hag. This hag, sitting there, civilly, with a cup of tea, had the power to hurt her, and Burgundy, without even getting up and that was...scary.

"Not with whatever ails you. What you so far have failed to understand is simply that he – Severus Snape – never trusted anyone. I have never seen him ask for anyone to stay. I have never once seen him show any kind of weakness in front of anyone but you now. And while I don't know what your relationship might be..."

"I told..."

"Yes, you told me that you went to Primary School together and that you have only recently met him again but that he has knocked your partner down so he was killed. I do listen, Ms Lightfoot," she said sternly.

"I doubt he trusts me and I doubt..."

"It is no matter if you or I doubt. This is a matter of observing things and having known him for a long time. I have, Ms Lightfoot. I know the way he is around people and I have seen how he is around me..."

"Maybe because I haven't tried to kill him," she hissed angrily.

"I will not defend myself on that matter again," the hag arched her eyebrows. "This was..." she sighed softly. "If someone threatened your daughter, what would you do, Ms Lightfoot? Would you try and kill him or would you stand idly by, afraid someone could hurt her? An innocent child? What would you do?"

"I thought you said Snape hadn't actually hurt anyone?" she asked, confused but not showing it.

"He didn't," she banged her hand on the table, making Burgundy look up curiously and puzzled. "But I wasn't to know."

"You could've asked," she retorted. "But..."

"No, Ms Lightfoot. I am uncertain if you have ever experienced war and I honestly doubt that you have but..."

"What do you think this is around here? Living in fucking Disney Land? I have a man threatening me and my life because he, according to Snape, fancies me and because some idiot I slept with owed him two-hundred quid. I have a child I have to feed with not nearly enough money. I have a son who lives with his father because I'm not good enough for him and you don't think this is war? It is a fucking raging battle against the council who wants me out of here, and everyone else around here as well for that matter because the posh people need a few new shops. I own this house but this doesn't make it simpler. I have to fight with the social to get me bloody money and I have to fight to keep...no, I don't know about war but I know about having to fight to have a decent life and I don't think you know that kind of battle."

The hag seemed startled for a moment, then nodded her head. Quietly. Softly. Gently. Slowly, her hand was grasping hers, and squeezing. "I want to help and I can help. But I need your help before that. I can promise to keep the council and the social, whoever they are, away from you."

"What?"

"Witches have a big advantage..."

"They don't have to bother with men because they look like hags?" she asked drily.

"No," the hag actually chuckled. "Not all of them look like me and I didn't always look like that but I see your point. No, we can, with the right tools, bend wills. Confuse people..."

"So that was what Snape was doing," she muttered and perked up. "So I could be confused now and I wouldn't even realise it?"

"You could be, but you're not. And what do you mean, Snape was doing it?"

"With Rob. Nevermind, it's not important," she shrugged. "I'm not convinced of anything."

"I know. I have one question though, before I go..."

"Just one? Go on then," she said, relieved that this hag would be leaving her house soon. If she did.

"Why did you help Severus in the first place? I understand that he fell down in his bedroom and that is...quite..."

She swallowed hard and fixed her eyes on the old hag. "Because I'm not some cold-hearted bitch who only helps after she almost killed someone." She had the audacity to have a slow smile creeping on her lips which only grew when Christine couldn't think of a sharp retort and only sat – nodding.

xx


	12. Chapter 12

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 10 (with big plans, a spindly finger and a rather charming command)

xx

Severus scowled. It was one of the magnificent scowls he had usually reserved for people like...Longbottom. A premium scowl which stretched all over his face and radiated to his neck and his hands and his posture. It was a scowl that would send hundreds of adults, thousands of pupils, and tens of thousands of children scuttling back to their holes. And the elf stood utterly unimpressed, his ears twitching happily and his eyes, while wide open, only full of attention and no fear at all.

"No," he said, adding to the scowl with the silkiest threat in his voice.

"Erwin will has to punish himself. Erwin have two different orders and Erwin have to obey the biggest one," his ears still twitched and even his words, and their meaning, were betrayed by a soft smile. "Erwin know what good for Master Severus Sir and Master Albus Sir always say that Master Severus Sir will destroy himself with all the good he want to do and all the wrongs he think he have to right. Erwin have his own wrong to right and is made promise."

"I release you from your promise," Severus said, the elf treading on his last nerve. He needed to get his knee fixed before he could go look for the sheep's blood. But without the Strengthening Potion, he might not be able to fix his knee. Not that he felt particularly weak but...

"Not you's promise," the elf said and a slight agitation seemed to rise over him. The ears were very still all of a sudden and he was wringing his hands.

"Promise to Dumbledore?"

Erwin nodded slowly. "Cannot be released."

"I'm sure the portrait could," he muttered pensively but the elf shook his head viciously.

"Portrait cannot. Have to carry out promise. If Erwin don't, Erwin will grows mad and Erwin not wants to be mad," he said quickly in reply.

"How mad?"

"Evil. Bad. Bad elf, bad elf. Erwin's father, made promise. Could not do it and Manfred was first elf to ever kill himself in Grindelwald."

Severus shook his head. He didn't want to hear about nasty elves, about dark wizards, about anything. He wanted that twinge in his knee to stop and he wanted to walk without a limp and his patience with the elf was worn thinner than any bit of high-quality parchment. "Stop it. You cannot steal a baby."

"Erwin's not steal baby. Erwin's ask for baby. Baby..."

"Forget the baby," hissed Severus. "I understand you have to take care of me because of some promise that might not even exist..."

"Erwin wouldsn't be this way if Erwin wouldst have other orders, Master Severus Sir. Master Severus Sir have big future, Master Albus Sir say and Erwin promise make sure that Master Severus Sir has healthy and good enough to have big future. Bright future with child and wife and big chief."

"You're babbling nonsense," Severus sighed. What did it matter if the elf said he'd go round the bend. He was already as insane as any house elf could get. Not directly obeying his orders? Predicting the future? Any decent Hogwarts elf would be appalled.

"Erwin's only ask for baby. If not baby available, Erwin find other things to make Master Severus Sir happy," his ears began twitching again.

"Why don't you try the other things...I give up. I honestly and truly give up but I will not take you wherever I will go and you can go insane here on your own."

Erwin smirked. The stupid elf had the audacity to smirk, to bow, to mutter something like 'Yes, Master Severus Sir,' and had popped away before he could say another word. Why was he stuck, even after he had survived, with a disobedient house elf? Fate, such as it was, seemed to have a little laugh (or a full out guffaw) at his expense. He had only wanted to get well again to apparate away to a country ending on -stan. Or somewhere equally boring. Maybe Yemen. Or...Iceland. Nobody would bother him in Iceland for sure. Greenland would be better. Greenland, little sun, lots of darkness and guaranteed solitude. Not this madness with an insane elf who lived on non-existent promises.

He sighed as he dragged himself down to his cellar, pulling the bad leg behind him, only the sheer force of will making it bend at the appropriate times. A pain potion was a good idea. And then...he would have to brew the right potion and, that done, search his library for the appropriate spell to knit his ligaments back together. Skele-Gro wouldn't help with his kneecap either and a bone-mending Potion hadn't been invented yet. They could regrow bones but not mend. Another spell would have to do it and casting that wrong could have...he was a decent wizard. He was, or had been, powerful in his own right. He was a quick learner most of the time and if he could practice on something first, he could do it himself.

Not going to a Healer. Definitely not doing that even though he knew his knee could be fixed within seconds. He did not want to rely on other people again and certain not on any wizarding people.

He snorted. They had done nothing for him. Not a single person had stood by him in the end. Potter and his little friends had run off as soon as he had seemingly taken his last breath. McGonagall had...no. It was better not to think about this anymore. His life in Greenland awaited him. There were, surely, plenty of new herbs and ingredients that hadn't been tested yet, somewhere, underneath all the ice. And with global warming, that should be gone soon. Plus, there was definitely not wizarding colony in Greenland. He would have to learn Greenlandic, of course (he seemed to remember there was that language) but that wouldn't be a problem either. And boring. His life in Greenland would be extraordinarily, wonderfully, amazingly boring. He would live off...something. He could most certainly examine seals for potion ingredients, try and plant herbs and sell some of the less volatile stuff (cremes and lotions and whatnot) to Greenlanders. Or he could survive by fishing. Ice-fishing was popular, wasn't it? He could do that. Read and write and no owl could ever find it's way up there. He would surely be the foreigner, and the strange foreigner at that but better the strange foreigner than the murderer or the traitor.

He sighed as he saw his cauldron and cleared his throat. "Accio sheep's blood," he said, loud and clear and raised his hand, ready to catch anything that could come his way.

He needed the Strengthening Potion.

xx

"Oh for fuck's sake, you made me jump", Christine huffed angrily, her hand clutching her chest. "Can't you knock at the door like normal people?"

"Erwin don't understand, Miss With-Baby," the Gollum-E.T.-hybrid stated.

"Never fucking mind. You're not a normal person and what the hell would the neighbours think anyway," she shook her head. "What'd'you want?"

"Erwin want baby, Miss With-Baby."

"Lightfoot, the name's Lightfoot," she growled. "And you won't get my baby."

"Master Severus Sir needs baby to recover and to learn to laugh. And Master Severus Sir need to learn to laugh," the weird thing said with a strange sort of conviction.

"And? What's it to me?"

"Master Severus Sir canst take away rings from Miss Lightfoot ma'am's eyes," the creature smirked at her. It was a disconcerting sight and it made her shiver.

"You won't get my baby and I'll live with the rings around my eyes and the bags underneath them and the wrinkles and..."

"But Master Severus Sir will not stop wrinklies. Will bring more wrinklies but good wrinklies. Erwin think that Miss Lightfoot ma'am have forgot how to laugh also."

"I have not," she ground out. "And if you ask me if I've been crying...listen to me. I'm talking to a...whatever it is that this thing is," she sighed. "I'm probably going crazy anyway. Gone round the bend. Twisted. Should get myself into a funny farm, barking at the moon. All figments of my imagination. Gollums and E.T.s and witches that can be cats."

"Miss Lightfoot ma'am not insane, ma'am. You's just as sane as anybody."

She stared at the creature. It was wrapped in a...towel? It was barefoot and suddenly, took a step towards her.

"Erwin can helps you believing this all," the creature said extraordinarily calmly and gently. A long finger, not quite as long as E.T.'s, she had to give him that, was pointed towards her and it suddenly was as if there was a warm breeze coming from his finger as he stepped closer and closer and touched her abdomen with it. "You's never believe in much, Miss Lightfoot ma'am, but magic is real and Erwin canst calm Miss Lightfoot ma'am enough to believe him."

It was tingling and fuzzing and bubbling in her stomach. Warm, too. Warmth spreading in tingly waves through her entire body and even though she knew rationally that she could be feeling quite unnerved by this, she wasn't. Somehow, oddly enough, it did calm her. The spindly finger on her belly send tingly, fuzzy, bubbly warmth through her stomach, her legs, her arms, her chest, her head. It wasn't as if she was feeling confused – quite the contrary. She felt fine. Clear. Her head was clear and she felt truly, truly comfortable.

And that unnerved her. Rapidly, she stepped away from the spindly, long finger. "What the fuck do you think you're fucking doing?"

"Calming Miss Lightfoot ma'am," the creature said with a little smile. "Miss Lightfoot ma'am is calmer than before."

"I'm not," she argued but she knew she was. "This magic-crap is..."

"Erwin just want Miss Lightfoot ma'am to believe there is magic."

"How can I not?" she replied, her flared-up temper calming as well again. "But..."

"It's not for Erwin to answer Miss Lightfoot ma'am's..."

"And stop calling me that," she shook her head. "Honestly." She frowned, and looked the creature in the eyes.

They were bright purple but instead of wickedness or evil, they shone warm and gentle. Big. Compassionate. The large nose didn't seem to be so unnatural in a face like that and his lips were still quirked in a sort of self-satisfied smile. He didn't seem to want to harm her, or her child. But she couldn't deny that she felt quite...creeped out...by the fact that with a simple touch to her belly, he had been able to conjure up feelings and emotions that most men had never evoked in her. Not even when touching more intimate places. This figure, this thing, it made her feel quite comfortable, quite safe, in fact. His entire posture showed nothing but gentility. Nothing but niceness. He wasn't in fighting stance, he didn't seem threatened or threatening. He just was there and, as much as her mind couldn't process it, some part of her had responded to his spindly finger on her belly and some part of her had accepted what she had seen and heard in the past days.

"So why exactly did you come here?" she asked, arching an eyebrow and bending down towards him.

xx

With a rather satisfied smirk, he allowed a drop of sheep's blood to fall into the concoction which was bubbling happily in the cauldron. Another few days, three to be precise, and it was done. Of course he was smarter than a house elf and no matter where he had hidden it, he had found it. No matter if the elf wanted to hurt himself, he had the potion soon in his hands and in his stomach and in his blood. Baby-magic was nothing, he thought (with a snort) compared to what this potion could do. Greenland was only a few days away. Solitude and constant darkness and constant light and ice, ice, lots of ice, were only a few steps away.

He made the mistake then, in that moment, to lean to much on the wrong leg and his knee suddenly gave in. He cursed, even as he was falling on the leg and on the knee and on his hands. Undignified. Very much so, and he was glad that not even the elf had seen this. Weak. He was weak.

Groaning quietly, he pulled himself up with a little aid from the potions-bench and stood, a little wobblier than he cared to admit, in front of it. Pain potion. He could brew that in an instant but would then have to wait until it was completely out of his system before he could take even a minute sip of the Strengthening Potion. What he could do, however, and which, to his knowledge, could be easily combined with the Strengthening Potion was a Ligament Supporter. Easy enough as well, could help him with the spell to knit them back together again. It would, he thought, maybe even take a bit of the pain away.

Silently, reverently, he put a cauldron on a fire next to his Potion and just as he poured a little bamboo juice into it, quiet voices sounded through the house down to his cellar. He frowned. She couldn't possibly, or could she? He had threatened him with...baby.

Severus groaned. He couldn't possibly let the woman run around in his house unsupervised and Erwin would be...he groaned again. Stupid elf. Oh, he would take him to Greenland with him and feed him to the polar bears. Bit after bit until nothing but house-elf-spleen remained. Or something else. That damn interfering, stupid, daft house elf. Not the way an elf should behave. Not any elf. Not even one that had lived with Albus Dumbledore for fifty years or so.

"Oi, Snape!" the woman suddenly shouted. "Are you coming up or do you want me to come down and get you?"

He groaned again. He should have never even taken the walk the year before. He should have never raised his wand towards her partner. Never. He should have just gone to bed that evening.

Dragging the leg slightly behind him, he ascended his stairs. So much for brewing in peace.

"What?" he snapped as he saw her standing there – with her child.

"That charming little bugger of yours told me you wanted to see me and my daughter?" she said sarcastically.

"That charming little bugger of mine will not longer be anything of mine if he keeps doing things against my wishes," he muttered in reply.

"He said something about Burgundy making you healthy," she shrugged. "I help where I can," she added, again in that sarcastic tone of hers.

"You can go back to where you came from," he hissed.

"I could. Or I could stay because I got promised a bloody cup of tea from your...thing. And I'm getting it."

"Master Severus Sir," the elf bowed low. "Little Miss Burgundy can help yous."

He sighed. The Strengthening Potion only needed a few more days. A few more days until Erwin became polar-bear-food, a few more days before he could forget that this woman existed and a few more days to forget that anyone was stupid enough to name their child Burgundy. Only a few more days. He could do it. Play along so long. A few more days.

And if the child didn't like him, he could get rid of that problem even sooner. Besides, no sane person would leave their child anywhere near him. Especially not if it cried and was uncomfortable all the time. He scowled at the child (which still looked more like an Emma to him) but instead of crying for her Mummy, she took one, then two very uncertain steps towards him, before she let herself fall forward, straight on his legs, holding onto both of them, giggling and laughing.

"Snep up!" she commanded with a wicked smile on her face, teeth gleaming, eyes sparkling and even his premium scowl didn't stop her. "Up, Snep!" she repeated, bouncing on her little feet.

He shook his head to himself but since the woman had, miraculously, left (probably getting her cup of tea and nagging about her seven quid), since Erwin was nowhere in sight, he bend down to the child until his nose was almost touching hers.

"This is the first and the last time I will pick you up and if you tell anyone, I'll have to make sure you end up in one of my potions. Is that understood?" he asked, his nose accidentally touching her soft, little button nose.

"Snep poshion," she nodded, looking quite earnest despite the drool gathering on the corner of her mouth. He sighed. At least she, it seemed, could remember the really important things.

xx


	13. Chapter 13

_**The usual disclaimers apply**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 11 (with two ticklish people, an impossible elf, and a tiny cliffhanger)

xx

He frowned at the child. This little thing was supposed to have any kind of magic which would cure him? _Him_ of all people? This worm of a human being? Was this child a witch and Erwin had seen it before he had? Highly unlikely. There were only about twenty Muggleborns each year in the entire United Kingdom and for him to stumble over on, quite literally, to carry one around, no. It must have been something else and he couldn't fathom what it could possibly be.

"You're not magical," he said, poking the girl in her stomach. This, however, had an interesting effect. Immediately, it cringed and laughed and nonsense words spluttered out of her mouth. "That is not magic," he grumbled, but for good measure, and with careful fingers, he poked her once more. The reaction, again, was immediate. Ticklish little girl. He smirked evilly. It was always good to know the weaknesses of others – even if they were only ten months or so old.

"Snep!" the girl wailed happily. If anyone could wail happily. But it was a shout, scream, quite banshee-like, born out of her giggles and her laughter.

"Snape, girl. Snape. Not Snep. Not anything else. Snape," he said loudly, and very clearly. "But then again, you don't look like a Burgundy and I'm definitely not calling you Burgundy. Not that I have need to call you anything," he mused, poking her once more. It was different this time. She didn't giggle as much but rather exhaustedly, lay her head against his shoulder and flung her arms, sticky from all the drool (possibly) around his neck before looking up briefly and before he could react and pull her away, or shove her away, or drop her, she had planted her very wet lips on his cheek. For only a moment, he had been given a baby kiss and now that infernal little thing lay her head against his shoulder again. Quite probably drooling on him.

"What was that?" he asked seriously, and realising that his knee was twitching and aching more and more, he sat down. With the girl in his arms. She didn't give an answer. She only smacked her lips (or made something which sounded like smacking of lips) and snuggled (snuggled!) closer to him.

"Buhgudy not Snep," she said, muffled against his neck.

"I know I'm not you and your name is ridiculous," he replied, his nose accidentally colliding with the top of her head. What was this girl doing snuggling (snuggling!) to him like this when it was polite to look at people when you talked to them?

"Buhgudy not tick," she said and it made even less sense than before but at least now, she seemed that she understood he didn't understand her and looked up at him with her little eyebrows drawn together. She frowned, then a little, grubby, sticky finger poked his stomach.

Nobody – absolutely nobody – apart from his mother (who had been dead for almost twenty-five years) had ever – absolutely ever – poked him in the stomach. But – she had merely retaliated, had she not? He smirked. Smart girl.

She poked him again and then shook her head vigorously. "No," she said, still nodding, and there was the drool again.

He arched his eyebrows. "Fine, but do. not. call. me. Snep!"

She nodded but he doubt she had understood him. Well, if he got this over with quickly, and nothing much happened, that ridiculous elf would stop with that ridiculous notion of _baby-magic_ and would leave him be so he could go to Greenland.

xx

The Gollum-E.T.-hybrid was not a great conversationalist at all. She had to bloody sip her bloody tea (which was good) and munch on biscuits in silence because that thing was bustling around wildly in the kitchen. She knew she was unfair. He had calmed her and she was reasonably sure that this was no thing at all but a kind of creature with feelings. More intelligent than any dog, or dolphin and even most humans she knew. And, she had to give him that, he was most efficient. Within moments, seconds really, he had made a kind of dough (bread? Biscuits? Pastry? Damned if she knew) and barely ten seconds later, all the bowls and stuff he had used were cleaned again and sailing to the spots they possibly belonged to. He cleaned the floor, the working surfaces, everything, with a speed she had never seen before and she would, most likely, give her right arm to have someone like him to do the housework for her. Cook for her and Burgundy. Do the dishes. All those annoying little chores she truly hated from the bottom of her shrivelled heart. Maybe, because she had shown a kindness of her shrivelled heart, Snape would let her borrow him once in a while. When she really couldn't be bloody arsed to cook.

Christine sighed softly to herself, her nose deep in the cup of tea. It smelled divine with just the right amount of milk in it. Just brewed for long enough.

A thought flashed in her head and she had to express it to the bustling thing. "How can he be so miserable with you here? And that tea here?"

"Oh," the creature seemed to blush but it only created an oddly purplish colour on his cheeks. She would never make him blush again. That looked positively disgusting. "Miss Lightfoot ma'am like Erwin's tea? Make it after Master Severus Sir's specifications. Erwin so happy you like good Master Severus Sir tea," he looked at her intently and the purplish tinge to his cheeks remained. "Tea is good."

"Yes, I know," she frowned. "Can you not answer the other bloody question? You said that my baby would do him good. That's what you said, right? My baby would help him. Help him why? Help him do what? He better not fucking hurt her, or I'll cut off his balls and string them up for everyone to see."

The purple vanished from the creature's cheeks and he shook his adamantly. "Master Severus Sir never hurt anyone. Master Severus Sir loath hurt people because Master Severus Sir..." his mouth clamped shut. It looked like he was grinding his teeth as well and his eyes twitched, his fingers twitched and his head leant forward.

"Master Severus Sir what?" she asked, suspiciously. "Again, if he fucking hurts my child, he will pay. Fucking dearly."

He shook his head again and bounded towards her and grasped her hand with both of his. It was odd. The calming feeling she had experienced so strongly, tingling, warm, fuzzy, was there again. A lot less intense than before but it was there and she could possibly get quite addicted to that feeling – safety and the knowledge that...she closed her eyes for a brief moment. It would have been bloody scary if it hadn't been so lovely. It was suddenly quite simple to draw a deep breath, to full the entirety of her bloody lungs with air. She knew, or the creature made her feel that way, that Snape would not harm Burgundy in any way. That the man and his creature would take very good care of her daughter.

She opened her eyes again and suddenly, not realising she had walked at all, she stood in the door frame to Snape's living room. She stood, and the creature had let go off her hands but pressed his against her lower back instead with the slightest of pressure.

Somehow, the picture which presented itself to her was...surreal, dreamlike. An image she had seen before her mind's eye when she had been little and had dreamt of a family. She, standing there and just observing a daddy with his child. It looked exactly that way. Snape sat there on one of those chairs, one leg propped up on the coffee table, the other on the ground and Burgundy sat on his lap with a drooling grin on her face. Snape held her sides. He didn't bounce her or anything and he didn't smile at her either. He just held her on his lap, or on his thighs and talked. Snape talked to her daughter.

"And if you add aconite to anything containing silver, you will blow up the cauldron as well," he said in a low, silky voice. A voice like...one of those posh, expensive blouses that she could never afford in her life. "But if you use a copper cauldron aconite is perfectly safe to use. Pewter is a bit more tricky but that depends on what kind of solution you're putting the aconite in. However, for any first cauldron, Hogwarts says you have to get pewter, simply because it's the most cost-effective. Not that you'd ever go to Hogwarts but I can teach you how to brew cold remedies, how to make first rate herbal tea and...cook," she saw him smirking at his daughter and for one brief moment, it seemed that he lifted his thigh and let her bounce. Odd but...

Why not? She knew, and had the proof right in front of her eyes, that Snape, and the creature, could look after her girl. And since she had been born, Christine had never been out. Not once. It was high time again. At least for an hour or two. Just to have some time to fucking breathe for herself. Clear her head from all the shite that was going on with David and so on.

She could ask but better, probably, ask the creature and not Snape. Not that he had noticed her at all. He was fully focused on Burgundy and explained things that she didn't understand at all. That Burgundy would never in her life understand.

"Monkshood and wolfsbane and aconite are the same thing. You do well to remember it even if you won't go to Hogwarts and study potions. But it's never too late, or too early, to learn, even about potions. And there are a lot of things you could brew. As I said, cold remedies, salves for aching joints, pastes for burns. Not as potent as you could if you were magical but you could definitely brew those things easily. But there are a few things you ought to remember..."

He began to list things that wouldn't go with other things and carefully, she tiptoed back to the kitchen, the creature's hold on her back always there.

xx

Silly woman. True, he had talked to the child about potions but only because he couldn't sit with her silently, but apparently, she had seemed to think that he would actually harm her and came to spy on him. Nobody spied on him. Nobody had been better than him and nobody could walk as silently had he had been able to do. And the way he could again as soon as his knee was back to normal. The knee propped up on the coffee table was not for show and the child on his lap either. It was just so much simpler to keep an eye on her and to control her drooling. He had, so far, learned that it was best to either dab at the drool with a handkerchief, or, more effectively, banish it as soon as it started to appear somewhere around her mouth. Maybe, he thought, he could even develop a spell which would stop that dreadful drooling right from the start. Keep the mouth shut, sort of, so it didn't dry out but keep the spit where it belonged.

He grimaced at the child but said nothing, only looked at her. Her eyes shone brightly in that murky brown colour and she had seemed to listen intently to him the entire time. How he had wished that his students had listened to him like this when he talked to them about various plants and cauldrons and what not to put in if they didn't want them to explode their cauldrons but then again, they could understand what he was saying, Emma there, well, the child, possibly couldn't. Not that it mattered. He had talked to the child for almost an hour, he had even, very briefly, bounced her on his knee and since she was yawning, and her murky brown eyes beginning to get a little...wet, since she seemed to draw deep breaths as if to prepare for earth-shattering screams, it was quite possibly best to give her back to her mother.

He had done what Erwin had wanted and now he could get ready for Greenland. A bit of research and his potions. The rest, he could deal with then when the problems arose. Apparating would be a bit far, possibly. So he had to get an illegal Portkey but that wouldn't be a problem either. Deciding whether to take Erwin or not was a bigger problem. There was no wizarding culture in Greenland and he couldn't keep Erwin inside all the time. On the other hand, he wouldn't have to make an illegal Portkey if Erwin could apparate both of them.

"Snep," the baby suddenly wailed and her cheeks had grown bright red. He didn't know much about children but this was definitely the onset of some serious crying.

"No, you won't. You will wait until your mother is back here and then you can cry all you want. Not now," he scolded mildly, frowning. "Do you understand?"

xx

The creature clapped his hands together madly and nodded as if he was fucking possessed. "Yes!"

"He would, right? He wouldn't hurt her and it would be for a bloody hour at the most to get some breath," she shrugged.

"Yes! Baby in the house. Erwin have not taken care of baby since he live at Grindelwald and one of the woman-followers of Evil Master Gellert have baby. Erwin want to look after baby and Baby Lightfoot is good baby but crying now."

"So I'll bring her over tomorrow at around...five?"

xx

"Absolutely not," he thundered, glaring at his elf. He was no bloody babysitter for a vulgar woman.

"Baby magic is important and Master Severus Sir feel better already, otherwise would not shout like this," the impertinent elf scolded and handed him a cup of tea with twitchy ears.

"I'm not a babysitter. By no means and if that...Erwin! What kind of elf are you? Do you have no shame? No honour?"

"I have orders," the elf stated with a steely glint in his eyes and surprised Severus by the use of that personal pronoun. First person singular. He arched his eyebrows.

"Is that so? My knee is severely damaged and you claim to have orders to take care of my well-being..." he implied and the elf's cheeks grew purple. "So?"

The elf grew more purple and slowly inched towards the table.

"No, you won't hurt yourself," he said rather angrily. He couldn't admit that he did feel better. He felt less tired and he had no headache whatsoever. That didn't mean that this had to do with the baby, however. Or with the elf. It was just that he was on the slow road of recovery. And that was nothing to admit – that was a fact. Oh but the elf infuriated him something dreadful. Presuming things and not helping with his knee or with his potion. Dictating his life.

Yes – this was what was truly bothering him and he felt his anger explode. He felt himself exploding.

"If you think you can be either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord, you're mistaken! I haven't survived this fucking war to have my life dictated by some German house elf. You either do what I tell you to do or you go back to Hogwarts," he shouted and barely noticed the swear word he was using.

"Master Severus Sir, Erwin...Erwin want best for Master Severus Sir. And Master Severus Sir cannot go from England. Master Severus Sir need to stay here. Miss Lightfoot ma'am need Master Severus Sir. Miss Lightfoot ma'am is depressed and need Master Severus Sir's help. Baby Lightfoot need Master Severus Sir or Baby Lightfoot will fall down in society and end up like bad human. Will be bad Muggle and will never learn to brew Muggle potions. And not only Baby Lightfoot will be bad if Master Severus Sir leaves. Everyone will be. Master Severus Sir cannot go because Master Severus Sir be needed. Everywhere," the elf said, sounding agitated.

"I am done with being needed!" he shouted. "I'm done with being used and I'm done with serving," he shouted further, his throat raw and used and the energy he felt he had inflating from him. It felt this way, at least. He wanted to go back to bed, or on the couch now, and he wanted to stop shouting but his anger got the better of him. Impertinent house elf. Impossible house elf.

Erwin slowly nodded, his purple cheeks lightening further. "Just tomorrow, Master Severus Sir? Miss Lightfood ma'am say only an hour so Miss Lightfoot ma'am can catch a breath, yes? Just tomorrows?"

xx


	14. Chapter 14

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 12 (with the eternal problem in front of the wardrobe, drooly kisses and a conversation in a pub)

xx

She growled low in her throat as she stared at herself in the mirror. She knew for a fact that that bitch of a top had fit before. It hadn't been that tight across her chest and over her stomach. It had fucking fit. It had looked great and not too slutty but now...

"Fuck it," she muttered and pulled the top over her head, none too careful not to destroy her hairdo, and held it between her fingers, shooting it a terrifying glance. "You bitch," she growled and threw it in a heap at the corner of her bedroom. It didn't make any sense to try and wear that. And money for new clothes was – absent. Hell, she could use some of the bloody counterfeit money that Snape had made now. Just a bit of money for Primark.

Oh well, she thought to herself. It didn't make any sense. She just had to make do with the stuff she had. And Snape had destroyed some of her best things as well.

Still – he had volunteered to babysit Burgundy for an hour and as he had come over to confirm the night before, just before she had gone to bed, he had even said two hours. She smiled to herself. If Snape could be a constant in Burgundy's life, it might go differently than David's. She wouldn't lose him to his...father. The person who had just shot his sperm around.

Christine shook her head. Better not think about David. Or about Hugh. She would be meeting Shannon at the pub in half an hour and she didn't even know what to wear yet. Just a Smirnoff and no worries about her baby waking up. Going out for once. Just for an hour (or two). And she didn't need to impress any bloke at all. Blokes could all go to hell. Apart from Snape (as long as he kept an eye on Burgundy) and Snape's creature. If that could be classified as a bloke at all.

Suspiciously, she eyed the jeans that had once been her almost favourite mini skirt. It didn't look too bad and no bloke would stare at her if she wore it. And she had one of those long sleeved turtlenecks in black that made her bosom look nice without look too stupid. It hid her saggy belly as well. And – she had those heels that she had thrown in the back of her wardrobe for looking too boring and being too high when she had been preggo with Burgundy. This would do. Hair in a ponytail and nobody would even look at her. Just a chat and a Smirnoff with Shannon. That was all she wanted. Clear her head – maybe ask her opinion about David – or, most likely, not.

She got dressed before she could change her mind and wear something else which would make any bloke look at her and ogle her legs and picked up Burgundy from where she had been playing with a few scattered socks on the floor and sat her on her hip.

"Off to Snape we go, eh? You will behave yourself for him, otherwise I'll have to come home early. Or don't behave for him and we'll see how he deals with it," she told her daughter but smiled. The image of him sitting with Burgundy on his lap and talking to her was burned in her memory. It had seemed so natural. So like a father to any of her children would have acted in her mind when she had been...not a mother yet. He had just sat and talked to her. He hadn't even smiled, he hadn't even talked about topics for children. He had just talked to her. As if she was understanding what he was talking about and she had been listening with that rapt expression on her face that she usually displayed when someone was paying so much attention to her. Silly girl.

But Snape – she was grateful. And she knew, despite the fact that she didn't know him well and despite the fact that he had killed Burgundy's father, that her girl would be in good hands. Clumsy and inexperienced, probably, but good. And she allowed herself a small amount of gratitude for this. Allowed herself a tiny smile. If he continued to talk to her like this, her daughter would know much bigger words than her soon.

She hadn't walked in heels that high for a long time and so she found herself quite staggering across the road towards Snape's house. No matter. She wanted to wear those shoes and they went extraordinarily well with the jeans. Hadn't thought jeans could be so – well, nice to wear. She felt comfortable in them, as she did in her former, almost favourite mini skirt. She knew that she even had a nice arse in that, and that gave her that tiny bit of self-confidence to wear those jeans. And not her mini skirt in which people knew her. People knew her only in mini skirts and deep cut tops. Nobody would ever suspect her wearing something this...sober.

Her eyes widened. Yes, she had felt rather good in front of her mirror but it was all Snape's fault. She looked quite respectable in those clothes and Snape...

His door opened without her realising that she had come to stand before it and had knocked. She must have looked quite a sight though, she realised, with her mouth hanging half open and her daughter bouncing on her hip.

"It's your fault," she said and lifted Burgundy in her arms, handing her over to him.

"Excuse me?" he asked in a sarcastic tone, holding her daughter as if she were an alien.

"This. This. This. Your fault," she replied but she couldn't bring herself to glare at him. Maybe it wasn't all bad to look like an old spinster. After all, hadn't she just established that she didn't want any blokes looking at her? And how best to avoid that than with jeans and a fucking bitch of a turtleneck? "Nevermind," she said nevertheless and looked at him curiously.

It wasn't her with the strange expression on her face. It was him. With his eyes ever so slightly more open than usual and his eyebrows, for once, at normal level but there was a tiny frown-line between them and there was something different in his eyes. This expression scared her. It looked different from usual. And different from usual was usually not a bad thing at all.

"I'll be back in an hour, one and a half tops," she said quickly before she bent over and kissed her daughter's forehead. "Be a good girl for Snape."

And with that, she turned and walked away.

xx

It seemed that Ms Lightfoot had finally found some taste. And it seemed that Ms Lightfoot had finally discovered that hiding things were sometimes more effective than displaying them so openly. It seemed that Ms Lightfoot was out for a shag.

She wouldn't have any difficulties in finding a man walking around like this. So much better than that vulgar mini skirt and the deeply cut tops. This was...he had found himself staring at her. The jeans fit well (and he wanted to pat his own shoulder for the accomplishment in transfiguring it so perfectly to her size), the sweater with the high collar showed her bosom without smashing it into people's faces. Nobody would have to be afraid that her breasts would, at any time, fall out of the thing, or poke an eye out. And with the shoes, which, by the way, he would have never transfigured, she cut quite the nice figure.

Her hair had been different as well. Just pulled back into a low tail, and even if the colour was still obnoxious, it hadn't been so...blatant...that there had been a mishap with some hair dye. And of course as soon as she had turned away, he had been able to look at the best part of jeans. Wizarding women just never knew what to do with their behind. Muggles knew and Muggles had invented jeans.

Ah well. He would make sure to plan for longer than an hour and a half. She would be out quite late and planned to be, judging by the clothes she was wearing.

He looked at the child in his arms and arched an eyebrow at her.

"But if you think I'm going to play with you, you have another thing coming," he said sternly.

"Snep, poshion," she smiled innocently at him and suddenly grabbed him around the neck in what he supposed was meant to be an embrace.

"That will not endear you to me more," he muttered.

"Snep, poshion," she replied, planting a terribly wet kiss on his chin.

"Potion? I could turn you into a potion," he grumbled but the same moment, the girl lay her head against his neck, her soft hair tickling his neck and the scars there. She just rested her head there, her little hands pressed against his chest and shoulder and he could feel her – wet – breath against his neck as well. He didn't understand it.

He just didn't understand. He had done nothing to make this child like him. He had never done anything to make anyone like him. Yet, here the girl was, actually, without a doubt, cuddling him. Hugging him. Trusting him. Just like that. Without him giving her any reason for it. And, he concluded, she had to like him, or at least tolerate him, in order to do that. To rest her head against his neck and the ugly, angry-red scars which still hurt and twinged.

He had suspected it the day before when she had sat so quietly and had listened to him. He had guessed it but this simple snuggling and trusting and the hair against his scars confirmed it. The girl was insane.

Insane to like him and insane to trust him. If she knew what he had done – he sighed. "I murdered," he told her quietly but, she was too little to understand and only snuggled her head deeper into his neck. She gave a happy sigh but other than that, nothing.

"I killed people," he repeated. "I had to torture and I had to hurt others."

She said nothing. Of course she wouldn't. She had been able to communicate quite well that she didn't like being poked but the rest of the English language (apart from a mangled version of her name, his name and potion) seemed to be still foreign to her. And he doubted she knew about murder, killings, torture. Even if she had lost her father that way. It was better that way in any case – she wouldn't be in his arms if she knew and she certainly wouldn't snuggle her head against the scars on his neck if she knew how they had come about.

Oh. But...he wanted to slap his hand against his forehead. Of course she should know. If she knew, he wouldn't have to babysit her. He would be rid of her. And that was what he wanted. Absolutely. A hundred percent.

But he didn't want to play with her and he couldn't think of anything else to do and so he sort of stood quietly with her. He couldn't think of anything to say to her and she seemed obviously quite content just to hang onto him with her little head snuggled to his neck.

xx

"Whoa," Shannon said loudly. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"What d'you mean?" Christine replied, staggering on her heels towards her friend who stood in front of the pub.

"Clothes, darling. What the hell are you wearing?"

"I don't wanna be stared at today," she huffed.

"Well, that's gonna work in those clothes. You look like a classy, posh moo. Where did you get that stuff?" she rolled her eyes and took hold of both her hands and lifted them up, looking at her. "Those jeans are..."

"Shaz, what the hell? Stop it. I just don't want the idiots in there to stare at me legs all the bloody time."

"They won't stare at your legs but they'll sure as fuck stare at your arse and your boobs," the woman laughed richly.

"You can't see my boobs in that thing," Christine sighed. "Only..."

"And it's the only. Well, here's to hoping that the sods in there are all too pissed blind already," Shaz laughed again. She dragged Christine inside the pub and made her sit down at a table in the corner and went to get drinks and chat up the...ugly bloke behind the counter. She could only roll her eyes at her best friend and lean back in the chair. Snape had stared at her as well. Snape had looked at her strangely and he had made absolutely no move to change her clothes again. Absolutely none which was...astounding and he...had held Burgundy quite carefully again. True, it had taken a moment before he had gotten used to the baby but then it had seemed that he had got the hang of it quickly and Burgundy had willingly gone to him. Not the custom with her little diva who even fussed when Shaz held her for a moment. Not with Snape. She frowned. Ah well, if she could keep Snape as a babysitter, it wouldn't be too bad. And maybe Burgundy could have her father-figure that way, with otherwise absolutely no male in her life after David had refused to be a big brother.

"You're strange today, Chrissie," Shannon said flatly as she put the Smirnoff Ice in front of her.

"I'm not," she said a little tiredly and it sounded dishonest even to her own bloody ears.

"You're wearing fucking strange clothes and I don't think I've ever seen you in jeans, and you left Burgundy all on her own, which you really haven't done before and..."

"I didn't leave her alone, Shaz," she shrugged.

"Babysitter? How did you get the money?"

Her face fell slightly. Snape wouldn't expect payment, or would he? Instead of giving her back her seven quid, he had only given her the food. He could be skint also as far as she knew. But he was not an unreliable teenager who was only after the bit of money they could get. She couldn't pay Snape. Shaz was paying for the drinks because the ex had let a little money the last time he had been but she couldn't possibly give him more than 50p. And that was an insult, wasn't it? The creature had never mentioned payment.

"Chrissie! For fuck's sake, where are you?"

"Right here," she said absent-mindedly. "Sorry, Shaz. No, it's my neighbour," she replied, steadying her voice and trying to convince not only Shannon but herself as well.

"What neighbour?"

"Snape. He...oh God, he came back from where he taught just a few weeks and we've known each other since Primary and our mothers knew one another. Burgundy likes him and he was willing to watch her for an hour."

"Snape? Never heard of him," Shaz muttered. "Did he tell you to wear that? You're not shagging him, are you?"

"No," she said quickly. "Of course not. After Kyle, I'm absolutely fed up with men. And Snape is different."

"As if different was a bad thing. Think he's someone for me?" she asked, wriggling her eyebrows.

Christine snorted. "Try." No. Snape was too posh for someone like Shannon. Or herself. Is Snape had a girlfriend, she would be some naturally blonde, skinny cow who always wore subtle make up and would turn up her nose at everything. Would always look as if there was something nasty smelling right under her nose. But Snape had no girlfriend, had he? And if he didn't charge for the baby-sitting, she would be fine. But it would be entertaining to watch him squirm if Shaz began her moves on him. And entertaining to watch her being utterly embarrassed if she turned his irony on her. Besides, it would definitely be interesting to see if he told her about magic quite as willingly as he had told her.

Somehow, she doubted he would and that, and despite the fact that she liked Shannon, would be rather good for her self-confidence.

xx

She hadn't once let go off him. No matter what he had tried, the moment he had tried to put her down on the floor (as her mother did), she looked up at him with a pleading look and a quivering lower lip. And a quivering lower lip, he discovered now, was something that completely lost its potency when the quivering, trembling lower lip was older than eleven. But if those lips were on so young a person, it was...persuasive. He couldn't explain but the longer he watched that lip and those eyes and the supposed, alleged innocence in the child, he was convinced by Erwin's claim on baby-magic. That supposed, alleged innocence...incredible.

And so, Erwin had fed them both, but not for one moment would she move off his lap and eat herself – much. She smiled, she babbled, she held on to him and didn't do much more. Well, apart from drinking her pumpkin juice with so much gusto that she had an entirely orange face. At least she wasn't one of those whiny children. Not that he had much experience with children. Or any at all but she didn't whine much, she didn't complain much and apart from the quivering lower lip, there was nothing – not need for any panic and that – astounded him.

It was on impulse that he wrapped her more securely in his arms and carried her, after their meal, down to his cellar. She wasn't old enough to mess with his potion and she wasn't even old enough to understand what she saw but it would keep her busy and would maybe even make her so tired that he could put her down instead of holding her all the time.

He did limp, yes. His knee hurt something dreadful but he would just keep doing. He would just try not to put too much weight on it. Emma, however, did notice it.

"Ouch, Snep?" she asked and her little brow was furrowed and he was surprised by her eloquence. It was almost – almost, mind – a complete sentence. He snorted.

"Yes, my knee hurts but I cannot heal it until I have finished the potion and looked up the spells. Who knows if the limp is reversible. But it would give me an edge to walk around with a cane. Would make me look like a cheap copy of Lucius Malfoy, eh?" he told the girl who looked happily at him. It seemed to him that the girl was only happy to be talked to with big words and small words. Just to listen to his voice.

"This is my potions lab," he told her the moment he opened the door and, with Emma on his arm, walked in. Yes, everything was still in order. Everything was as it should be. Not tampered with, not destroyed. So the elf had some decency at least.

"Poshions," the girl babbled happily and flung her arms, once more, around his neck and planted, once more, a wet kiss on his cheek.

Silly girl.

xx


	15. Chapter 15

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 13 (with reminiscences, plans for other people and puzzlement)

xx

He watched the baby as it sat gurgling and drooling on his arm. She seemed happy enough, much like the picture that was somewhere up there. Much the same position, in the picture. Only, it hadn't been him holding a child – he had been the child and he had been held by his grandmother. Grandmother Mary, the Muggle side of the family, who had always given him boiled sweets and had then rescued him when he had been threatened to swallow the damn things whole. There was a picture somewhere. Of him, sitting on his grandmother's arm, smiling at the old woman (she had been old then, hadn't she?) but at least in the picture he wasn't drooling. He didn't even know if he had. Nobody had ever told him. Nobody had ever shown much interest in him apart from Grandmother Mary whom he had, he remembered, loved, as only a grandchild, too young to know differently, could love.

He watched the child on his arm and pushed the brief moment of sentimentality from his mind. Instead, he made sure that the child wasn't actually drooling into one of his cauldrons. One drop of spit, and all his nice work would be for absolutely naught. Maybe, he thought, there was some kind of device that you could put in from of children's mouths to make sure the drool didn't run down their chins, as it was running down Emma's now. Maybe a sort of scarf to be tied around the entire head, covering the lower part (hadn't the neighbour's boys worn something like that when they had played cowboy? Back when he had desperately wanted to play with them but was excluded? By them? Being told, for the first and second and third and umpteenth time that he was a useless waste of space?).

"We'll find you something next time I bring you down here," he muttered to her and she gurgled at him. Rolling his eyes, he hoisted her further up on his arm, trying not to let her fall. When had he learned to hold a child anyway? No, venturing down into the dark depths of his past wouldn't do him any good at all.

He cleared his throat and his voice was much sterner than it had been before. "Now we go upstairs again and wait for your mother. I'd wager those seven quid that she'll be late."

"Mummy!" the girl said loudly and laughed.

"Merlin, are you ever not happy? You're much too cheerful," he grumbled. "Did you like the potions then? And do you remember all about Aconite and Wolfsbane? Of course not."

"Poshion," she replied honestly and snuggled her head on his neck. Sitting on his left arm, her bum almost precisely where the fading Dark Mark had its eternal location and snuggling her head to his scars. Were all children this trusting? Stupid?

"You know that what you're sitting on, most people wouldn't even touch with a poker," he told her, using his teaching-explaining voice. "And that scar you're hair is tickling was from an evil snake who would have killed me if I had given it even a split second to do so."

She gurgled, babbled something.

"As long as we're clear," he nodded and without her changing her position at all, he carried her up the stairs, warding his lab even as he went. The twinge in his knee had grown into a blooming, flowering, red-hot, white-cold pain. Walking was difficult and walking with the child on his arm – well, he only had to make it through to the stuffed chairs in the living room, grab a book, maybe read to her (hadn't Grandmother Mary done it? Even his mother before...) and make sure she was falling asleep. Or hand her to her mother beforehand. If that woman could be trusted to be at least almost on time.

"Master Severus Sir is alright? Little Miss Lightfoot Miss alright as well?" the elf bowed low. "Might Erwin suggest a cup of warm milk for Little Miss Lightfoot and a cup of tea for Master Severus Sir?"

His eyes narrowed. He was behaving like a servant. Like some old-fashioned downstairs-type and not like a house elf.

"Yes, fine," he nodded. "And then I'd like you to behave like a house elf again."

"Erwin behave like a good elf," the elf actually had it in him to scowl. "Erwin only want what best for Master Severus Sir and Master Severus Sir should know this."

He nodded. "And you're working on some mysterious orders and you still believe in baby-magic. Bring me tea and her a bit of warm milk and then go and clean something."

xx

She knew that Shaz was glaring at her and that she was the tiniest bit angry. But it hadn't been her fault at all. Not her fault that bloody that she didn't want to be that late to pick up her child. Not her fault (not entirely) that she had a child and if Shannon would have wanted to stay in the pub for longer, she could have. Not her fault that there had been a _bloke_. She rolled her eyes as she deposited her friend on her couch, handing her a bottle of cheap wine and a glass before she all but ran over the road. It had been so fucking nice to spend some time not worrying about Burgundy and she wanted Snape to watch over her girl again. Wanted to have that freedom more often and she figured it would only work if she actually came back on time.

She knocked on the door, knowing that she had only been gone few minutes longer than an hour and slowly, the creature opened the door.

"Miss Lightfoot ma'am," he bowed. "Little Miss Lightfoot and Master Severus Sir are in the living room having tea and milk," he explained smiling. "Miss Lightfoot ma'am had a good night?"

"Yes, I had," she couldn't help but smile at the little ugly thing. "It was good to get out once in a while. But..."

"But what, Miss Lightfoot ma'am?"

"How come you just open the door like that? It could be fucking anyone..."

"Erwin know who's coming," he smirked.

"Can you sense that? Could you sense if..."

The creature shook his head. "Erwin look out of kitchen window."

Christine rolled her eyes. "Alright. So it's only me that knows that you exist? In this street, I mean."

"Only yous, Miss Lightfoot ma'am, and Little Miss Emma Lightfoot."

"Emma? My child's name is Burgundy," she replied, puzzled for a moment, and then shrugged. "I'll better not let him wait anyway."

xx

Her fingers were rather chubby and – tiny. Her fingernails even tinier and neatly cut. One of her hands was balled into a fist, resting on his chest and the other grasped a bit of his shirt.

Never had anyone – or anything – slept on him. Never until now. He had given her just a bit of warm milk and she had fallen asleep within seconds, it seemed. On him! On his chest. Wet spots had, indubitably, appeared where her tiny mouth was, slightly open, a few bright and shiny teeth visible and her nose...if he had been anyone else, anyone, apart from the Dark Lord, he would have called that nose cute. Such as it was, he didn't but despite himself, he couldn't help but wonder about the entire matter of trust that small child felt in his presence. He wasn't trustworthy at all. Emma could have asked anyone he knew (if she could have) and she would have got the same answer from anyone.

_Snape, trustworthy? Hell, no. Merlin's saggy balls, no. Absolutely not. Not at all. Everyone but him. _

And yet, this tiny little creature there had sat on the fading Mark, had snuggled her head against Nagini's scars and was now, currently, at the moment, sleeping peacefully against his chest, drooling on his shirt, holding on to his shirt as he sat in his living room with his leg propped up. It couldn't be very comfortable for her, especially as he didn't even lie flat. He didn't lie at all. He half-sat, half-slouched in his chair and had only scooted down a little as she had fallen asleep.

It was nothing but surprising. More than surprising. He didn't dare to admit it quite yet, but the child sleeping on his chest turned his world, if not upside down, so at least tipped it a little to the side. For now, and as soon as her mother picked Emma up again, he could pretend that all was as it was – he was untrustworthy, chilren ran screaming when they only caught a glimpse of him, and most former students cowered in fear these days, not only because he had instilled fear into them – these days, they were probably afraid he'd just draw his wand and kill them on sight. He sighed softly, trying not to disturb the sleeping child on his chest.

Greenland was the best choice. No prejudices against his person, herbs, polar bears and no drooling children on his chest. No need to hold said sleeping child on his chest by putting his hands on that little back.

xx

She shook her head sternly. "No, Mister Potter," she explained and for the first time, really felt like a Headmistress of Hogwarts, sitting there, on that side of the desk, looking at a poor miscreant (not that there had been any mischief done in this case. Not yet).

"But just a letter?" the young man seemed to beg.

She shook her head again. "No, Mister Potter. Let him recuperate. We – all of us – have taken too much of his life such as it is," she said very quietly. She truly hoped that the young man was smart enough, and had lost some of his impulsiveness, that he understood.

He nodded slowly, looking more like an adult than his father, even during the hardest of times, had ever looked. Quite the contrary. It seemed that some, or all, of the things that had happened to him had brought out more of his mother's features. Small, gentle smiles, pensive looks (which Lily Evans had only displayed when she thought nobody was looking) and an earnestness in his eyes that was older than his years. Far older. "Will you let me know when I can see him? I should...apologise."

She smiled sadly. "Don't apologise, Mister Potter. Just say thank you and mean it. It would mean more to him."

"Are you in contact with him?" he asked incredulously.

"I have a spy on the spy," she explained, chuckling. "No, but his house elf is in contact with the Hogwarts elves."

"Do you think the elf could..."

"No," she repeated, raising her voice ever so slightly. "Do you not understand, Harry? He needs a bit of time without us there, without any of the Wizarding World making more demands of him..."

"I wouldn't..."

"Accepting a thank you is a demand as well, so don't argue with it. Leave him be."

He nodded and underlined that with a dramatic sigh. It made Minerva laugh and she stood up and patted her former student on the shoulder. "Do not worry yourself. I will try to get him back to Hogwarts and as such, I will need to meet with the Board now anyway, so..."

"Do you want to keep him there for Potions? Bring him back?"

"Why, Mister Potter, you think of returning here?" she asked, smirking.

"Hell no," he rolled his eyes and stood up as well, shaking his former teacher's hand. "Let me know if I can do anything for Hogwarts."

"I will," she ushered him out of her office with that and took a deep breath before she closed her eyes for the Apparition – one of the very many advantages that being a Headmistress brought with it. She wanted Severus back at the school. And she would have to make sure that the Board of Governors didn't make it any more difficult. She would need their backup – especially since he hadn't even agreed yet. But he couldn't possibly agree (and she understood that) if he thought that the Wizarding World in general, and Hogwarts and its population in particular, had turned their backs on him. Nobody had. They needed such a powerful wizard to survive and strive as a population and as a people. Without him as a shining example of a dutiful wizard, someone who just understood what had to be done and acting on it without caring about himself much (which had been wrong, she knew), she knew that their world would soon be full of hero-worship for bumbling Gryffindors. Not that she minded bumbling Gryffindors. She was one herself but they needed Slytherins, they needed Hufflepuffs and they needed Ravenclaws just as well.

By being able to offer him any position at Hogwarts (preferably that of a Deputy Head or at least a Head of House (though that might be difficult)), with approval of the Board, there could be no doubt in his head that he was wanted.

Would mean of course that he would have to separate himself from that woman because there could be no way that Minerva would accept her at her school.

She braced herself before she entered the room where she knew all the Governors would be sitting and hoped that they all agreed with her without her having to hex them.

xx

She had flirted and it had been fun but when she peeked into his living room, she knew that flirt with that bloke (whose name had been...er, what had his name been? His eyes had been blue, the jeans nicely cut but his name...Joe? Jack? James? Jim? Strange name and he certainly hadn't come from that fucking hell hole) had been nothing. It had been a flirt. But Joe, Jack, James, Jim would never be able to hold her child like this. It was like...nothing she had ever seen and it beat even the moment when she had seen them the day before with Burgundy on his knee.

Her little girl lay on Snape's chest, her mouth a little open and most certainly drooling on the man's shirt, her head tucked just underneath his chin and his chin touching her little head gently. His arms encircled her little body and held her tenderly in place.

Slowly, he looked up at her and there was the tiniest moment of fucking bliss on his face, an almost smile tugging on his lips and the next second later, he scowled again.

"Take that drool-machine away from me," he said but kept his voice low and gentle.

"It'll be over soon, the drooling," she smiled but nevertheless walked to him and picked up her daughter, hushing her mewling as she held her against her own chest. "And I can wash your shirt if you like."

He scowled but only got up, didn't say anything to her.

xx

That girl had left the largest ever wet spot on his shirt. How one tiny child could drool so much was beyond his understanding but the spot was there nevertheless and she had the audacity to smile at that and offer washing it.

The little body had quite warmed him though and a sort of calm had flooded him as she had slept on his chest and he could forget about the spit.

And that woman still smiled at him. "Hope she wasn't too much of a bother."

"As much as can be expected," he said sarcastically.

That woman smiled at him and suddenly, his person was assaulted. Suddenly, she had leapt up towards him and before he knew what was happening, she had pressed her own (dry) lips on his cheek and kissed him.

It was over before it had begun, her hand lingering on his left arm for a second longer and then she sauntered off with her baby in her arms and Severus could only touch his cheek, a rather puzzled expression on his face. Christine and Emma had both – kissed him.

xx


	16. Chapter 16

_**The usual disclaimers apply**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 14 (with a sharp tongue)

xx

The elf bowed low. He should, normally, know not to disturb him when he was brewing. Even if he was only brewing something as profane as tea but this time, he did. Not that the elf didn't do a lot of things that he wasn't supposed to do but he figured it was just his rotten luck to be blessed with one of the weird elves.

"Master Severus Sir," he bowed again, "there strange woman are coming up to house."

"What strange woman? Christine Lightfoot?" he asked, carefully checking whether his tea was done yet (and yes, he did love Erwin's tea but sometimes, he just had to do it himself).

"No, no," Erwin shook his head viciously. "Not Miss Lightfoot ma'am. Other woman. Strange woman. Erwin have never see before in his long life."

He arched his eyebrows. Probably someone wanting to sell him something. Probably someone who promised his soul would be saved. If he only did this or that, paid for this and that. His soul was beyond redemption, but of course those people wouldn't know.

Still, he smirked secretly. He had so little practice lately. So little opportunity to sharpen his tongue. To keep it like a painful and hurtful like a razor and he could do with a little bit of lashing out in any case. Needed to convince himself that neither Erwin, nor Emma, nor Christine had done anything to soften him up. He wasn't a nice person. He was the quintessential arsehole and he knew it, and he would let others know too.

"I'll get it if she rings," he said almost pleasantly, smirking with anticipation. Oh, it would feel good to reduce someone to half their size. Would be good to be arrogant and sarcastic and mean.

"If you is sure, Master Severus Sir...don't look like a nice woman," the elf said quietly.

"I can deal even with the ones that don't look nice," he replied, still smirking rather evilly.

The elf, uncharacteristically, bowed again and left the kitchen. Maybe doing some laundry or some other useless thing. Two more days, three tops and he would be out of there. Out to Greenland and he still had to decide whether to take Erwin, risk an illegal Portkey or the too-long Apparition which would most likely result in Splinching. He sighed almost happily. Nobody but him and polar bears and strange herbs and fungi he had never encountered, a few Natives who would most likely keep away from him, maybe Erwin who would welcome him with a cup of Earl Grey and the quiet contentment of having a child sleep on his chest.

He shook his head. No. Not the last part. Almost panicked, he tried to forget about the last part of his thought. There was nothing tempting, nothing even close to being content in having a child drool on oneself. Nothing. Absolutely nothing but the soft and even breathing, the gentle tickling of hair on his chin and the...

No.

No.

Absolutely not. Greenland. Polar bears. Herbs. Flowers. Fungi. Snow. A new language. Peace. Tranquillity. Quietude. Solitude. No drool. No tickling of hair, no trust, no smile directed at him and no shiny teeth that twinkled when someone said Snep or Poshion.

He shook his head again.

So he had to admit to himself that this damn baby-magic was addictive, with the trust and the happiness the girl showed, with the artless way she clung to him and the rapt attention she was giving him.

It wouldn't change his decision – and he wouldn't take Erwin with him. The elf obviously didn't know what he had done with his baby-magic. Condemned Strengthening Potion because it was a wee bit addictive and handed him the other addictive magic right away. He huffed quietly and squared his shoulders even more as he walked through his little hall to get to the front door.

Now he was just in the right mood to greet anyone of those people.

He snapped it open and glared at the woman standing there. "What do you want?" he bellowed.

"Oh, I just wanted to see you," she simpered. Actually simpered. His eyes narrowed. She was the utter opposite of Christine Lightfoot. Well, not quite, the clothes were interchangeable (before he had transfigured them) – short skirt, blouse with the first seventeen buttons undone but instead of flat shoes, she wore heels and about three pounds of make-up on her face. Not including the lash-thickener which should weigh the same alone.

"Why?" he asked, wondering about the hair colour. Had they all, in this area, got a discount for dying their hair a ridiculous shade of yellow? It was the same as Christine Lightfoot's (even though that would change, he considered for a fleeting moment. Maybe next time, he could change her hair the same colour as her daughter's. Not that he really cared about the hair...it would just be more pleasant to look at it he should ever, ever, encounter her again).

"You're Snape, are you not?" she continued to simper and her smile looked utterly fake.

"No," he rolled his eyes and glared at her. "Are you here to sell me something? A vacuum cleaner? A special TV programme? Plastic boxes? A religion?"

"No, I came to, er, sell myself," her pause had been deliberate. Her smile and the lascivious way her lips quirked were a dead give away. Again, Severus rolled his eyes.

"I didn't know prostitutes made house calls. Uncalled for house calls," he replied just as...pleasantly.

"What did you call me?"

He arched his eyebrows and let his eyes rove up and down her body. "Prostitute," he repeated deliberately.

"What?"

"Pros. ti. tu. te," he said again, smirking maliciously. "Something else you sell? Apart from you less than fresh body?" his eyes went over her again. At least three stone too much on her body, breasts that should have gone into a bra a long time ago and eyes that showed absolutely no life. There was no fire in her – even if he could have overlooked her weight – even if he were interested in that sort of thing – even if he were interested in her. Which he wasn't Wasn't interested in any kind of woman apart from maybe female polar bears if they produced anything that could be put into potions.

"How dare you? I'm Shannon Taylor. I'm a friend of Chrissie's."

"Look, you overweight, dim-witted woman. I don't care who you are, who your family is, who your friends are. If you, however, value your life and the existence of your limbs, I would advice you to leave my property at this very moment."

"Chrissie said..."

"Miss Make-Up, again, I seem to have given you the impression that I am interested. I am not interested in your sad little life, the sob story that you will no doubt produce at any second now or why you have fallen into the evil hands of a pimp, or a man who loved you and made you do it, and I will certainly not pay to touch this fat body," he said venomously and banged the door in her face just as another smirk came on his face and he was sighed almost happily.

This had gone rather nicely. He was still the old arsehole batty git of the dungeons. He could still reduce any sort of person to tears within a heartbeat. He still had it, he was still a git and baby-magic hadn't affected him, or altered him, at all. Not the tiniest bit. Not at all.

xx


	17. Chapter 17

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 15 (with righteous anger, a mischievous, enamoured elf and a visit)

xx

She glowered. It had been a long time since Christine had seen her friend Shannon this angry. She was way past pacing and ranting only – the red blotches on her cheeks had appeared about fifteen minutes ago and those on her neck and chest around ten minutes ago. The shrieking had faded into low growling and the tea and been spiked with more of the cheap booze than she should have had and apart from fucking gibberish, Christine hadn't yet found out why she was so angry. That would possibly take another five minutes of glowering angrily at whatever it was she stared at.

In the meantime, Christine just sat there herself, feeding her daughter a bit of banana that had somehow appeared in her kitchen. She blamed...well, who to blame but the creature Erwin? She had smiled at that and had, again, thanked her rotten luck that it had sent her Snape and as such, a built-in babysitter and a strange creature which brought fresh fruit and miraculously, kept her fridge full as well. Or fuller than usual anyway.

She just waited out the storm. Judging by the red blotches decorating Shaz, it was only a moment now anyway and so she sat Burgundy on the ground, letting her crawl around on the floor, trying not to be reminded of how Snape had handled her, had held her, had let her sleep on his chest. She knew it would immediately sent a strange knot into her stomach and that was rather unwanted at the moment.

"He called me a fucking whore," Shaz said suddenly and the shriek was back. Well, it would be. And it would now go on shrieking for a while. She had typical stages. Ranting and pacing, shrieking and stomping her foot, red blotches and more shouting and finally sitting and glowering before the shrieking started again and she would finally explain what exactly was wrong. It had worked that way when Frank had left, when Oliver had left, when that other idiot had left (not that she could remember his name – or the names of the other two or three), when her mother had died whom she had hated, by the way, when she had to move out of the council house, a load of idiotic, fucking things like that. But being called a whore...oh well, that was a new one.

"Who did?" Christine asked.

"Your babysitter. That bloody Snake."

"Snape," she corrected absent-mindedly, then focused. "What do you mean he called you a whore?"

"I went over to him and he called me a fucking whore. Told me he wouldn't touch...fat flesh or summat like that anyway. He bloody insulted me and you give Burgundy to that fuckwit? He's a damn, sick fuck and you let him have Burgundy?"

"You won't take her because she always cries when she's with you," Christine muttered, then sighed. "I don't know. He doesn't like women being dressed like that, I s'pose. I mean he always...erm. Well, he," she coughed and tried to mask her almost-slip. No, Shannon didn't need, shouldn't need to know about magic, "he told me that he doesn't. He was the one who..."

"Told you to wear that posh stuff? Yeah, super. And you told me to go after 'im," she said accusingly.

"I didn't say that," she laughed back. "I told you you could. Not that you should. If you had listened to me instead of ogling Robbie Sington, you would've know."

"He called me a fucking whore!"

Christine smirked. "I don't think that's ever bothered you before."

"But he said it like he was summat better than me," Shannon seethed. "He's living here like me, don't he? Like you. He's not better but he's looking down at me like I was a cheap whore. And if someone calls me a whore, I should at least be looked at like I was a dear one."

She rolled her eyes. "He doesn't like those clothes."

"Why didn't you tell me that? I went over there and thought he might like me. You know I've been on a dry spell lately."

"Dry spell?" Christine laughed. "I wouldn't quite call what you have a bloody dry spell."

It was Shannon's turn to roll her eyes but she grew earnest a moment later. "I want you to go over and tell him that I'm no fucking whore."

xx

It hurt. Physical pain in his back, his stomach, his legs, his head, his arms and his face. Mainly behind his eyes, mainly behind his navel. It was like something was pulling him apart and he knew it was wrong to do it.

He was accustomed to that sort of pain whenever he had to disobey Master Severus Sir because of something Master Albus Sir had commanded him to do. He was bounded to Master Severus Sir but even though Master Albus Sir had died, his strength on poor Erwin hadn't lessened in any way. Maybe if he could only focus on making sure that Master Severus Sir was happy, maybe if Master Severus Sir was only happy, the pain would stop.

And he knew, better than anyone, what would make Master Severus Sir happy. Miss Lightfoot ma'am would. Miss Lightfoot ma'am was perfect for Master Severus Sir. And Miss Lightfoot ma'am always looked at Master Severus Sir when he played with little Miss Emma Lightfoot. And Master Severus Sir was already very responsive to the little Miss Emma Lightfoot. Had even given her a better name and was looking at her like he loved her already. And that was the most important thing, Master Albus Sir had said. Master Albus Sir had said to make sure Master Severus Sir survived the war and then found love other than the green-eyed dead girl.

He hated what he had to do, he felt his hands shivering and they didn't want to do it but another part forced him to do it. He was battling with his own hands, one shoving the other away, the other shoving the shoving hand away and forcing his towel away from his stomach. The hand shoved again and the other shoved and he needed a moment to take a deep breath.

Usually, it would be simpler. Disobey, then hurt himself. Not this time. He was forbidden to hurt himself. He fought with himself. This was for the best and it was what Master Albus Sir had told him to do. Keep Master Severus Sir from harming himself, from hurting himself, from keeping himself from being happy, from getting well. With another deep breath, the shoving hand stilled and with a wrinkled nose, he pulled the navel fluff from his belly button and before the hand could begin shoving again, he had dropped his house elf navel fluff into the cauldron and watched, happily, as the solution changed its colour to a bright red for a moment only, then turned back to the boring silver it had been before. Master Severus Sir would never realised he had put house elf navel fluff into his silly addictive stuff. It would just not work. Instead, Erwin would wait one or two days for the next house elf navel fluff and put it into some chamomile, mint, myrrh and sage while he was cooking and could put the house elf navel fluff solution with the herbs into some of Master Severus Sir's food. That would make him much happier than silly addictive potion.

He nodded contentedly to himself and with a pop, left Master Severus Sir's laboratory and straight to the place he knew best.

She was there and looking as beautiful as ever. The moment he showed up, she beamed brightly and on her short legs, ran towards him, coming to a halt just inches before she could possibly fall into his arms. But he wanted her to fall into his arms. If only she realised that. If only she could see...but that was not why he was there. He could think about lovely Lurky when he was back at home on his little nest and relaxed. Not now, now he had a job to do.

"Erwin is there," she breathed and looked so ravishing. The Hogwarts towel suited her so well and she had a way of wrapping it around herself that showed her lovely figure without looking stupid. Only Lurky managed that.

"Erwin is," he smiled a little crookedly and his mouth didn't want to speak but the pain in behind his belly button and his eyes made him. Add to that a rather nervous knot in his stomach and Erwin only wanted to curl up in a ball in his nest of blankets and think about Lurky. But he had a job to do, something to do. "Will Lurky tells Headmistress Minerva ma'am that Master Severus Sir will not leaves England?"

Lurky nodded and smiled very prettily.

xx

He grumbled. Knock on the door and his house elf nowhere to be seen. If he made a stupid thing like he had done the night before – rearranging all his things in the bathroom – he would order him to...shovel holes in the garden and fill them again after a few hours. Anything to stop him from trying to change his life, trying to make him better. He was just Severus and he wasn't good or even close to it. Not even a determined house elf with orders from the almighty Dumbledore and a strange urge to rearrange his bathroom-things could change that.

He wondered whether he should open the front door at all. If it was any kind of wizard, they would just remain there and wait for him. And if it was, what he suspected, his dreadful neighbour, she wouldn't go away either. Especially not if she had her child with her. Or, hopefully, she would just go away.

His knee twinged as he slowly went to the door, almost hobbled there. Not a lot of pain, just uncomfortable and maybe...no, he didn't want to think about his subconscious and why he had waited, why he still waited, to take any kind of potion for it, why he hadn't yet researched ways to mend it. All the other things were more important anyway.

He took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

It was her. And the baby. On her hip, drooling and smiling at him and...waving at him with her chubby little fingers.

"Hiya," she said, smiling strangely as well. Smiling as if she was happy to see him, gleeful. Smiling. Beaming together with her daughter, minus the drool.

"Hello," he said grumpily and didn't open the door any further.

"Do you think I could come in?" she still smiled and didn't even seem put off by his having the door open only a tiny bit.

He groaned quietly. He would be bothered by her until he made a beeline for it. Until he left. No chance to get away from her. Severus opened the door a little further and was rather dismayed at her outfit. She had, obviously, reverted back to old form. Short skirt (showing too much leg) and deeply cut top (showing too much cleavage). His eyebrows arched on their own accord. He didn't care what she wore. She could wear whatever she liked. But the hair bothered him and it was offensive to his eyes that day. She had it open and the dreadful blonde was hurting his eyes even more than usually.

Just a quick flick of his wand, it was all it would take. He wouldn't be offended, she would get her natural (he supposed) brown hair back and his eyes would stop hurting from that less than pleasing colour. But – it was nothing to him, really. It was only a few more days. Waiting for the potion to get ready and the mysterious baby-magic to work a bit more and that was all, he could leave but until then...his wand twitched and a moment later, his eyes stopped hurting.

"Why did you call Shannon a whore?" she asked, dumping the baby on his arm.

"Oh so she was your friend?" he asked back after a moment, a moment of having to get used to having that drooling monster back in his arms again. Smiling at him.

"Indeed she was. Did she use her dreadful line again?"

"She told me, quite plainly, that she was selling herself," he explained, frowning as the child leaned her head against his neck. Again. Flinging her arms around him. Again. Stupid child.

"Yeah, she says that," Christine laughed deeply, touching his arm suddenly. Why? Why were both of them, the woman and her daughter, so touchy-feely, so keen on touching him? So not repulsed by him?

"It leaves only one conclusion to draw," he sneered.

"No, it doesn't. It's her stupid chat-up-line," she argued. "And I'm here to tell you that she's no whore."

"I don't think I used that particular word."

"Whatever fancy, posh word you used," she shrugged. "But she's not and she's...she was...sort of impressed by you."

"I cannot imagine that," he lifted the child at arm-length and wanted to give it back but she stood there and crossed her arms.

"Well, she is, was. Not that you calling her names would endear you to her but..." she sighed and ignored that he wanted to give her the child back and instead walked to the living room and just, without asking, sat down on his couch.

He followed, frowning, wondering if all people there were this...intrusive, or if it was only her. Or her, needing a babysitter.


	18. Chapter 18

_**The usual disclaimers apply**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 16 (with a few arguments)

xx

"So," she said, crossing her legs and so her skirt rode up farther up her thigh. "how come that the my skirt, who was a skirt, then a bloody pair of jeans, is now a skirt again?"

She looked much better with the dark hair. It fit her eyes better and her complexion and it looked less...cheap than the dyed blonde. And her thighs were there. He couldn't remember when he had last seen that much bare skin on a leg. Possibly the last time he had...But it was not appropriate to flash this much skin in a stranger's house at all. Even if the stranger carried the flesh-exposer's child around. Not even then. Never. Not ever.

It made him uncomfortable. End of story.

He cleared his throat and, the child still snuggling on to him (he wanted to get rid of it, it didn't want to be got rid of however), explained in little words. "Transfiguration is mostly temporarily limited."

"What?"

"The skirt was only a pair of jeans for a few days until it had to resume its original form again," he said slowly.

"Why?"

"The nature of things."

She furrowed her brow, frowning at him. "The nature of things would be not to change my skirt into fucking jeans. The nature of things would've been for the skirt not to want to be jeans. You bent nature."

"That I did. Possibly," he smirked.

"What do you mean possibly? The skirt was a skirt and then it was a pair of jeans and this morning, it was a skirt again. This skirt," she pointed at the bit of fabric covering the up-most part of her thighs and only that part.

He arched his eyebrows. "And?"

"What do you mean and? And it was something different. You bent nature."

"So if I did? Nature won back again."

"Look, Snape. You come here and suddenly, I have two pairs of jeans. And then suddenly, I don't have them anymore because I have the skirts again. You come here and you change my life and suddenly, you haven't changed it at all because it changes back to original form? My entire life is going to be back to normal as soon as...you can't mean that?"

"I didn't say that," he argued, understanding her line of thinking.

"I was affected by those jeans."

He arched the other eyebrow as well.

"I mean it, Snape. Are you telling me that you'll leave again and that my life will be back to being fucking harassed by people like...you know."

"I didn't mean anything by it," he answered, sighing. "I simply said that the Transfiguration was merely temporary. Nothing else."

She arched her own eyebrows in turn. "You won't leave?"

"I might."

"Why?"

"I don't have to answer that," he snarled. Who was she anyway to be asking those questions? To be interpreting his words? To be bending his answers? "And why are you here in any case?"

She met his glare. "To tell you that my friend Shannon is not a whore."

"Only that?" he asked sarcastically. "You dragged yourself over there to make sure I didn't have the wrong opinion of a woman I'll most likely never see again?"

"Yes," she snarled back. "You think you're so high and mighty that you can just come here and look down on all of us then? Listen up, Snape, you were born were just like I was. And just because your mum could afford to send you to a fancy school and just because you didn't get knocked up when you were too young to be knocked up doesn't mean that you're any better. You still came back here, didn't you? Didn't have anywhere better to go than rotten Spinner's End, did you? All that fancy school-stuff didn't help you get to a better place. No, you came here, you killed Kyle, you almost pass out and I have to help you, I give you my last seven quid and don't get anything back until almost a week later because you were too weak with only some bloody hybrid to help. If you're too fucking good for this fucking street and this fucking town just fucking leave."

He continued to glare at her. This outrage had to end. She was going – right this moment.

"Leave," he said simply. He would not let her insult him and insult her in return. He would not stoop to her level, or even close to it.

"Can't bear to hear the truth?" she said challengingly, trying to stare him down.

"Leave," he repeated.

xx

It was utterly ridiculous. He carried her child around and ordered her out of his house. She would go, as soon as he remembered that he had her child in his arms. So far, he bloody hadn't.

She had gone too far and she knew it – or maybe not too far, but just far enough. Pushing, seeing how far she could go and it seemed that she had pushed him so far that he had even forgotten about Burgundy. Still held her very closely and almost seemed to shield her with his body, his hand, and she doubted he knew it, rubbing circles on her back.

She had to bite back on her grin. It wouldn't do. And she was, after all, bloody angry with him for talking to Shannon like that. And for changing her clothes back. Well, she didn't really mind that.

He glared at her. "You forgot the forging of money on your list," he said and his voice poured down her ear like warmed oil. Like smooth honey.

She didn't laugh but she knew it was a close call. She wanted to laugh and she felt the need to laugh. He had forged money, and he had made sure that Kyle could never hurt her again. He had rescued her.

Had rescued her more than once, actually. Kyle, Rob, the decent clothes to her trip to the pub, the babysitting. She smoothed the skirt down and tried to stretch it a bit over her thighs but it was short. It couldn't really come as a surprise that he had thought Shannon was actually selling herself. And not in the sense that she herself used as a pick-up line. Shannon (and herself, most of the time) dressed that way. But why hide it? Why hide the assets they had been given? And, until she had worn the jeans, she had felt very comfortable in her skirts. No, she still did – but in a different way.

What was it to him anyway? He had almost acted like a jealous boyfriend who didn't want anyone else to see what he was allowed to see.

Her eyes widened. He took care of her daughter, he made sure she didn't just show her legs to anyfuckingone and now they had a perfect row about basically nothing at all.

He couldn't possibly fancy her though. He didn't even know her. But making sure she wore clothes that did hide most of her skin instead of flashing it? Strange.

"Leave," he said again and still held on to her baby.

And maybe it was better to leave now. To think about this. To wonder why he had called Shannon a whore and had only changed her clothes instead of calling her the same. To wonder why he still held on to Burgundy so.

"Snep. Poshion," her girl babbled suddenly and lay her head gently against his neck, smiling and letting out a contented sigh. That was another mystery. Her little diva who couldn't even spent one second on Shannon's lap was happily snuggling with Snape. Maybe...

She cleared her throat and felt stupid for even pondering on such a stupid question. "Does she know that you killed her biological father?"

"I told her," Snape answered very solemnly.

"She's not old enough to understand that. I mean, with the entire, erm, magic. Does she know?"

He looked at her for a few seconds and seemed to think hard on her question before he looked at the child. "No. They cannot feel magic. As far as I know."

"So you don't know but you think she can't know? Even if her father never wanted her?"

He was silent for a few seconds again and for a moment she thought he was holding Burgundy a little differently. A little tighter or a little closer. "I doubt foetuses or newborns, or even small children know whether they are wanted or not if they are still cared for. And magic not done to her directly will not affect her in the slightest. I do not think she will have even realised it."

She nodded slowly. So it wasn't the magic that had her and Snape shared a bond. Burgundy had only, now, for the first time, found someone apart from her that she liked. Someone she trusted and someone she could snuggle with.

"Didn't I tell you to leave?"

"You're still holding my baby," she said, smiling gently. He liked her daughter. And he must like her, if just a bit, if he wouldn't let her go out in a short skirt. Not that he had changed it this time though.

xx

"Erwin," he bellowed, "tea!"

The elf wasn't seen nor heard (Merlin knew what he was doing) but a moment later, a cup of tea appeared on his old desk in his old room. A thing she had said had hit the mark and he stared into the amber-coloured liquid, thinking about it. It had rang so true in his ears and he had been able to respond truthfully.

He hadn't know that he hadn't been wanted by his father. He had been clothed and fed and even brought to bed by his mother and the absence of his father, even though he had been physically there, hadn't been noticed until a long while later. Certainly not when he had been Emma's age. Not that it mattered. It was all long gone and both his parents – dead. He was the live one. He was the one who had come out of it breathing. Damaged but breathing and, on the whole, rather saner than he thought he would be. Emma couldn't have known as a foetus that her father had not wanted her. It was impossible and it was stupid to believe it. And her being affected by a tiny tripping hex being shot at a person standing away from the unborn child in the stomach of her mother? Nothing to affect her there. Nothing supernatural, nothing at all.

And he honestly doubted that the girl was reacting differently to her than she did to most other people. Most likely, it was only a ploy of Christine's to get him to watch over the baby again. Not that he'd mind but she didn't have to know that. Didn't have to know that at all. And what if the baby liked sitting on his arm? He was a male after all and as far as he understood the entire situation, Ms Lightfoot was male-less. No big brother living with them, no father, no father-figure...oh.

No.

He would not be a bloody father-figure for that child of the vulgar woman. He couldn't possibly. It wouldn't work. He was the most unsuited person for this task. He was unfit to be anyone's father, much less hand-picked father-figure. He honestly believed, nevertheless, that Emma needed a strong hand in her life and she obviously took well to him being there, but – he was not cut out for the job. He could not do it. He would not let himself be forced to do it either. No amount of baby-sitting would turn him into a father-figure for this girl. If he were her father-figure, though, she would learn all that she could learn. She would be drenched in knowledge and in facts and figures and the important things in life. She would learn, from the earliest age about the useful things she could learn as a Muggle. Healing with herbs instead of going to doctors which not only her mother, but also he abhorred, Self-defence which she would need growing up in a place like this. He would teach her the cunning ways of Slytherin, would encourage her ambitions.

But such as it was, he couldn't do much more as a father-figure. Everything concerning morals or virtues would have to be taught by someone else and the only things he truly did know, Potionry, Dark Spells and Light Spells to dispel the Dark Spells. A few handy charms. All lost because she was no witch.

Not that he was a father-figure. Not that he would ever be. Not that he would ever let Christine Lightfoot in his house again. Not even if she had her daughter with her. Not even if she kept that prettier colour of hair, not even if she decided to buy herself some decent clothes. Not even then.

xx

"What the fuck?" she cried to herself as she stood in front of her mirror. A hand slowly crept up to her hair and fingered a strand. It was brown. Her hair was fucking brown. Mousy-boring brown. Stupid brown. The colour she had avoided for over twenty years (ever since she had dyed her hair for the first time aged...what had it been? 12? 13?). It was back. All over her bloody head. Brown hair.

"Fuck him," she growled and glared at herself in the mirror. First the clothes, now the hair, what next? Light make up with a touch of eyeliner and a bit of classy mascara? Silk stockings? Or only ever trousers?

"Who the fuck does he think he is anyway?" she growled to herself. "Does he know what time it took me to get it to that colour again? Interfering, controlling ba...stard," she stared at herself, her thoughts from earlier returning. "Changing of clothes," she muttered, "making sure my appearance is fucking decent before letting me go to the pub and changing me hair back."

Christine sighed. "Bloody bastard." She wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger. She had to give him that – not a bit of grey though. Not even the four or five she always had on top of her head. Maybe – she thought – it would change back as well though. Would just have to wait and see and try not to get used to it too much before she found she liked it and then suddenly she woke up with the cheapish dye again. So okay, the orange hadn't been very...flattering but it was no reason to just change her hair colour again without even consulting her.

She growled again and even though she was already half-way into her nightie and she had put down Burgundy long ago to sleep, she wanted to..."fuck it," she hissed and with another glance in the mirror, she darted back to her bedroom and threw a cardie over her shoulders and slipped into her sweatpants. Didn't care that the thin tank top (which he possibly wouldn't approve of but she didn't fucking care anymore) was a little see-through without a bra and she didn't care that it had a few holes on the seam. Or that the seam was coming apart. He couldn't just go around changing what she looked like on a fucking whim. She was her own person and whether he liked it or not, he was not her father, he was not her husband and he was not her brother. He was nothing. According to him, more or less, not even her baby-sitter. Not even that. The bloody bastard.

She only grabbed her key and shut the door quietly, hoping that Burgundy would not wake up in the five minutes she needed to give bloody Snape a piece of her mind.

She was a grown woman. She was a mother of two, even if one wasn't with her anymore, but she was old enough not to be patronised by a fucking bloke who had just met her. Never, she had sworn that to herself, would she let herself be bullied and pushed around by any man. Never again. And least of a all by a bloke who had never even bedded her. He had absolutely nothing on her and he had to realise that before he locked her into her (or his) house and told her what she had to do at every minute of every fucking day. She would never let a man control her again. Never again.

She didn't knock on his door – she banged on it with both fists. "Open the fucking door, Snape!" she shouted loudly. It was after eleven at night but she didn't care at all. She should have looked into a mirror earlier as well but...what if she had her mind full with other things to not see it?

"I'll kick it in if I have to!" she shouted again and her face was, she hoped, set in stern lines when she heard the man inside thumping down the stairs. It flew open a second later and the sight almost squeezed all breath from her body. And all her words out of her.

What fucking right did he have to change her perfectly good clothes, her perfectly alright hair if he, the Master himself, walked around sleeping in a fucking grey nightshirt. A nightshirt. Night. Shirt. Grey. Shirt. Like a dress for blokes.

"You're not serious," she gasped.

"Are you deranged?" he thundered suddenly. "Are you out of your minute mind? Are those tiny braincells of yours not working? Is your hearing impaired? Brain-damage? Anything, woman?"

She rolled her eyes. "Stop the dramatics, I came here to shout at you but I might as well do it outdoors now since everyone will know what you think of me."

He pushed the door open a bit, breathing heavily, leaning on a make-shift cane and glaring at her with his eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you want here?" he asked, and she knew he was bloody angry. He had no right to be angry. Yep, so it was late and he had apparently already been in bed but what the fuck? She didn't care. Her hair was another colour!

"This," she snapped and pointed at her hair. "I have no idea what is going on in _your_ brain or if _you're_ brain-damaged or if it's normal for wizards to just change other people's looks but I assure you, it's not normal where I come from. And not appreciated."

He shrugged carelessly. "Dye it back if you don't like it."

"Yeah sure, I'll dye it back and the next day it'll be blue because whatever you did is wearing off. Fuck you, Snape. You keep your wand away from me," she coughed. That didn't come out quite as she had intended. "Your magic wand."

He grimaced, possibly from the bad pun and arched his eyebrows but said nothing. Stood there in his grey fucking nightshirt with his arms crossed over his chest. Quite a broad chest. Quite, erm...

"You're one to say something. I mean your bloody hair is greasy and you wear a fucking nightshirt but you feel the need to change my bloody looks? Explain that!"

"I have nothing to explain," he replied coldly.

xx

It did sound a little – odd. Why had he changed the colour of her hair? Why had he Transfigured her clothes? Why had he looked at her before she had gone to the pub? And why had he felt a strange sort of contentment upon seeing her wearing the jeans he had made for her? What was the need to do this? Especially the hair. It had been revolting, yes, but it hadn't been that dreadful. Only a little dreadful. And it wasn't as if he planned to see her every day and wake up every morning with her in his arms. It certainly wasn't that way. He should have just let it be. Her clothes, her hair, everything. It didn't matter at all. And he didn't want to explain to her.

Rationally, it was all rather simple. He had had a compelling feeling to protect her and the child first when that bloke of hers had hit her and he had seen them – her with the swollen, ripe belly being hit and kicked. And from there on, from that compelling feeling, it had spiralled out of control. She had helped him for helping her, he had helped her for helping him and so on. Too much cause and effect for his taste but...there they were, the rational reason. If she helped him, or had helped him, which she had, he would feel compelled to help her again. If he felt compelled to help her, it was so much simpler to just make her a bit less...obvious. Short skirts and dreadful orange-blonde hair stuck out like a sore thumb. Modest jeans and mousy-brown hair did not. So if she walked around inconspicuously, he would not have to help her at all. He could just go about his business and leave England. Simple as that. But she wouldn't understand that. Hers was a very black and white world. Maybe. Or maybe not. He wasn't so sure anymore.

In all honesty, his eyes had wondered a little and, for a moment and so that she didn't notice, they had stayed on the front of her top. This was...outrageous. She should not be so surprised that he changed her clothes. She actually forced him to see her...breasts. All of her breasts. In outline and in...colour.

"Why the fuck are you blushing, Snape?" she growled and he was glad his eyes hadn't strayed again.

"You complain that I Transfigure your clothes, correct?"

"Yeah, but...you were blushing."

"Maybe," he took a deep breath, "I would not be Transfiguring your clothes if you did not sexually assault everyone who has to look at you."

"What?" she shrieked and blushed herself. Besides, he had not blushed. He would never do that.

"You heard me. Now is that enough for now or would you like something else? A homemade meal by my elf? Another two hundred counterfeit pounds? Another inconvenient ex-lover if I have to kill? Anything?"

Her hand was raised quickly as if to hit him but hovered, instead, in mid-air, waving uselessly before she let it fall to her side again.

"Fuck you, Snape," she hissed before she turned around and stalked towards the door, her behind cupped in those sweatpants. He arched his eyebrows and tugged on the collar of his nightshirt before he went to back.

**xx**

**A/N: Chapter written on a plane. Author is scared of flying. No guarantees are given for quality of chapter. **


	19. Chapter 19

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 17 (with sleepless nights, stupid people and an inconsiderate request)

xx

He understood her problem after the sleepless night. There was no way he could have got back to sleep after she had insulted him that way and only because of some little change in hair colour. But he, finally, at about four in the morning, understood her point. He had greasy hair, he had a grey nightshirt on and his legs had definitely seen better days. His entire appearance had seen better days. He had lost fat and muscle. His entire frame had grown thinner and he almost looked sick. At about four in the morning he understood the irony of what he had been doing, and what he had been expressing without actually saying it.

She was dressed like a … slut. And he did not want anyone dressed like it. He was used, after all, to the Wizarding World. An exposed collarbone was a lot of flesh to look at. A bare calf actually enough to send most hot-blooded wizards in a day-dream-frenzy. Not that he was like most hot-blooded wizards, he had known enough of Muggles and Muggle women to know that they didn't dress like they were stuck at the beginning of the century. That didn't mean that he had to like it.

On the other hand … he should be washing his hair. And he should get rid of the grey nightshirts, even if he liked them and the freedom they gave him while sleeping. Maybe a few new ones were in order though. Or if he could find a spell in one of the household-helping books, one of those. Whitening, brightening. Or turning them dark completely.

He couldn't remember shaking his head quite so often during one night. He could remember rather well nights when he had felt a stronger urge to force sleep to come and felt the need for a potion. Not this time. This time, it felt alright to just lay there sleeplessly and shake his head to himself, staring at the little alarm clock by his bed every half hour or so. It felt oddly alright to get up at five in the morning and to drag himself into the shower, washing his hair twice.

xx

She shook his head sadly. "You can't be doing this," she said.

"I have to," he replied sternly. "He might be acquitted but others aren't and I need him to give testimony. One way or the other."

"No, we have to leave him be. For a while at least. Kingsley, try and be sensible with this. If you force him to go to any courtroom, if you force him to say anything for, or against, other Death Eaters, you endanger him and you push him even farther away from the Wizarding World. He was quite unwilling to see me when I came over there and I know he's resenting a few facts. And a few things. He was hated and abhorred for more than a year because we never bothered to look past the façade. How would you feel? Would you want to be called back on some other duty? Because they needed you, not wanted you? Leave him be."

"I cannot, Minerva," he replied with a shrug. "I need his opinion on people..."

"Need! Need! Do you want him to help you? No, you need him to help you," she cried, outraged.

"If I might say a word," the portrait behind her interrupted.

"Albus, I don't think that's the right time," she chided gently. "We all know your take on the subject."

"Let's hear him," the Minister of Magic overruled.

Minerva snorted indignantly and raised her hands in mock-surrender.

"If you want him to help you out, Kingsley, and I agree that you do, you will have to go another way. You have to make it clear to him that without him, people can go free who might be a threat to him..."

"And you..." Minerva hissed, "you wonder why he didn't trust any of you? You'd be lying to him again. Lying and cheating him. You brought him into the position he's in now, Albus. It's all your fault."

"It is my fault," the man in the portrait replied softly, "but it had to be done. Who else would have been smart and cunning and brave enough to do it?"

"Does he know that? Does he know that you consider him smart and cunning and brave? Or does he still believe that he was just an expendable pawn? For Merlin's sake, Albus..." she took a deep breath, then turned to the Minister of Magic again, "be honest with him, Kingsley. It's what he deserves. Tell him that you think he's the only one who can testify completely honestly but promise that you won't ever ask any other favours of him. Or some other deal he cannot refuse. Don't just order him to do it because you need him to do it." She shrugged helplessly and stood up, gathering her robes in her hand slightly so she's be able to walk a little easier. "I doubt he will take to it kindly anyway you do it. And I can certainly forget about him coming back to teach, even if I create a new position for his Muggle friend."

"Muggle friend? What Muggle friend?" the Minister of Magic asked but it was only the portraits left to talk to and the current headmistress of Hogwarts had already, somehow very quietly, left her office.

xx

She hadn't been able to sleep at all the night before. It had been so wrong to go over to Snape and confront him. It was none of her business what he looked like and maybe, she thought, if she left him alone, he would leave her alone. He couldn't possibly change her clothes or her hair or anything if she didn't come near him again. If she just lived her life and let him live his.

Those at least, were her rational thoughts. Her irrational thoughts and those that actually seemed more prominent on her mind during the night were a bit different. If she went over the next morning, or midday, or whenever, and he had washed his hair...that was another story then entirely. If he had truly washed his hair after her tirade...that had to mean something surely.

And her thoughts only went on from there. If he was willing to wash his hair for her (and she truly didn't want to think about the grey nightshirts anymore), and was protecting her and...well, it was bloody clear that he was trying to impress her. Or, that he was impressed by her and her opinion at least.

No, this was ridiculous. She wasn't going round to see him at fucking all. She didn't care about him, or his well-being. She had repaid his kindness and had expressed her gratitude more than once. She had done what she had to do and that was it. They were even. It had to be enough. He was well without her and she would be doing much better without him messing up her life, or her baby, or anything.

She had got up too early for words. Had taken a long shower and had scrubbed her kitchen. It was clean enough but...it took her mind off thinking about Snape. Not that she found any special reason to think about him, but her mind was...different. Her mind wanted to think about him, it seemed. About his broad chest in that ugly nightshirt and about the way he had looked at Burgundy. Especially the two things. If he could treat Burgundy that way...

No, this was ridiculous. She wasn't going to be thinking about this at all. He was most certainly not the only man to treat children well. And Burgundy was a cute one. And she wasn't interested in any kind of man at all. Even if they were interested in her and in her well-being. And in her child. It didn't matter at all. It was her and Burgundy and they could manage perfectly well on their own.

xx

She took a deep breath before the Apparition. People considered her the stern teacher and only the stern teacher. People, especially people who had never set foot in Gryffindor Tower couldn't know how much she worried about her charges, and about all the children. People didn't realise that she had a lot of connections to all sorts of people and that they would always inform them about those children that she had cared most about. She had accepted decades ago that there had always been children she had cared more about that others. Not those who did best in her class at all. Sometimes they were just quiet and didn't even excel at Transfiguration but all of them had something special. A shy smile when they had first come into class, or a trembling hands when they had tried their first spell. Or, in Severus's case, a scowl and a little blue spot on his lips, no doubt by biting his quill a little too hard. Not that he had remained one of her favourite students but these days, her thoughts seemed to return to those ink-stained lips and that little scowling boy more and more. If she had given him a little more guidance instead of keeping her usual distance, or if she had ordered Horace to keep more of an eye out for him, if she had spoken to Lily Evans when that girl had clearly and loudly proclaimed Severus Snape one of the worst freaks and idiots in the universe, if she had...but it had been no use then and it was no use later and certainly not now. Severus had gone the way he had gone. All she could do now was to offer him a way back, and to stand by his side. And that, she swore to herself, she would.

The first step to that, however, was to accept The Woman. Even if she disliked her. But she had to get to The Woman before the Wizengamot in its infinite wisdom called on Severus.

Oh yes. She wanted The Woman to go with Snape. It would no only shocked the entire body of the Wizengamot but, she hoped, it would also give Severus a sense of not being alone. He trusted The Woman, even though he didn't trust her. Yet. She wanted him to trust her again. And if that meant getting along with The Woman, she would.

She landed gracefully on her feet just around the corner from where The Woman lived. She needed to speak to her and explain the entire matter to her. Calmly and sensibly. Without any shouting and any fighting.

She nodded to herself as she walked briskly towards her front door and knocked before she had time to think about it and about talking to The Woman.

She straightened her Muggle Style coat and cleared her throat. She needed to make The Woman understood that she came in peace.

The door was opened rather carefully and instead of being greeted by the usual sight of The Woman carrying her baby, it was just her. In those strange Muggle trousers that just hung loosely on her hips and she had dark circles around her eyes, the thing that Muggle woman put on their eyelashes all around her eyes instead of on the lashes, and a ratty old cardigan wrapped tightly around her.

"Oh no," she said in a way of greeting and frowned. "To what do I owe this fucking pleasure?"

"Do you mind if I came in first before telling you?" Minerva replied, having steeled herself for the incessant swearing and cursing.

"Fine. Whatever," she stepped away from the door, hugging herself.

"Thank you," Minerva replied rather coldly and stepped into the house. The smell of strong cleaning things hit her nose, reminding her strongly of a potions lab rather than a home.

"What d'you want now?" The Woman asked, her arms still flung around herself. Minerva was no daft person. She understood the basics of body language and The Woman was in no way fine. She was unhappy about something and defensive about her being there.

"I'm here about Severus again, obviously. Because why else would I be here? Do you think..." she stopped herself. It wouldn't do to start the insults again. And of course she wouldn't come to see The Woman just for the sake of herself even though...no. She couldn't stop caring about the entire world now. All of a sudden. She never had. She never would. This Woman was nothing to her. She only had to care about Severus now. It didn't matter that she looked like she had spent the night cleaning her house, or that she had been crying the last time she had seen her. She couldn't care for the entire world. Not at all.

"Why else?" she replied sarcastically, defensively.

Minerva ignored her and cleared her throat once more. "I know that you probably don't want anything to do with the entire matter but I would ask you to accompany him to several court hearings he has to go to to witness."

"What? Why should I do that?"

She rubbed her left eyebrow. "It would not only help him but an entire population."

She frowned disbelievingly and Minerva sighed.

"Severus is in the strange position that he has been acquitted where plenty of others haven't. And even though I tried..."

"Wait, are you some kind of important person? Like a fucking celebrity?"

"No, Severus is the celebrity these days. Not me. I am merely a teacher. Headmistress, as the case may be. But Severus is needed there and I think he would be more inclined to go if you were to accompany him."

"Why?"

She sighed again. "Because he trusts you."

"He doesn't," she laughed. "He's an arse. And you're stupid for asking me to go to anywhere with him. This would be all wizards, right? And me, little not-wizard that I am? They wouldn't even let me fucking inside."

"They will," she said coldly. "And I'm asking you because you can take care of him and that daughter of yours..."

"I will not take her to people I don't know."

Minerva sighed once more and looked her directly in the eyes. She could see that she hadn't lost her defensive stance. That she was still afraid of something and she pulled out the only ace that she had. And even that wasn't much of an ace with A Woman Like Her.

"Please," she said quietly. "Severus truly needs you there."

xx


	20. Chapter 20

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 18 (with Three Witches, crossed arms and quite possibly danger)

xx

He scowled. Of course he could also act surprised but the scowl worked better and besides, he had, in a way, expected this to happen sooner rather than later.

He growled to himself, his door opened only so far that he could look outside but that nobody could shove their way, or even a toe, in. Arching his eyebrows high up, he kept his steely gaze on one of them, the oldest one. "Have you come to deliver a prophecy? Will you tell me to kill the King? Be Thane of Cawdor?"

"Severus," the oldest one sighed. "Only one of us is a witch."

"Will I be able to sleep or am I to kill sleep?" he mocked further.

"The hurlyburly is done, fair is foul and foul is fair, now let us in," she groaned loudly. "The battle is lost and won."

He continued to glare. He couldn't remember seeing Minerva in a Muggle coat since he had been an active member of the Order of the Phoenix and even Christine, with the child sitting on her hip as usual, had thrown on a coat in the foul weather. A coat that hid all of her features, thankfully. It wouldn't help in this situation to see her nip...breasts. Not that it would affect his clear thinking but it was better she was just...covered up.

And the baby – why was that smiling at him again? Reaching out to him again with her little chubby hands through the gap in the door. He had no longing...

Two more days definitely. Two more days and his potion was ready. Two more days to pack the most important books and to close up the house. Plenty of time.

"Why should I let you in?" he spat.

"Because Burgundy needs to get out of the cold," Christine said evenly, quietly, gently, softly. Her harsh accent seemingly toned down. Or maybe it was just his lack of sleep and forced invigorating of the massive amounts of tea he had drank. He kept his eyes on the child who seemed to be wearing a pleading expression on her little chubby face, her murky brown eyes wide open and her arms still reaching out to him. He opened the door a little wider, and before he could control their entrance, before he had a chance to cross his arms, the girl sat on his forearm and had flung her arms around his neck, whispering a wet 'Snep' against his scar.

"Snape," he hissed in the girl's ear, his nose apparently upsetting her hair or something because she began to giggle wildly.

"I fail to see what is so amusing," he muttered angrily.

"Snep," she whispered again and pressed her wet mouth against his neck. He knew he should not let himself be distracted by the little girl. There were two more witches, one real, one in a more metaphorical, Muggle sense of the word, who wanted him to be distracted, probably. Whatever those two together wanted. Probably McGonagall had ensured Christine's help to make him do something or go somewhere. He wouldn't. And the girl snuggling to him wouldn't distract him enough to say yes to anything at all.

"What do you want?" he asked, standing in his living room and since he had wanted to cross his arms across his chest, he now found one arm crossed across his chest – and the child. He scowled at the little pest.

"Shall we sit down?" McGonagall suggested rather too sweetly for his taste. "Or a cup of tea? Erwin?"

"You do not call my elf," Snape hissed angrily.

"He's still partially under my jurisdiction," she argued.

"He is not. He was a Dumbledore-elf, and now he's mine with attachments to Dumbledore. He has nothing to do with Hogwarts," he glowered at her.

"Fair enough," she replied gently. "Could I bother you for a cup of tea?"

"Erwin," he bellowed, scaring the child on his arm. "Tea and quick. The quicker they get it, the quicker they'll be gone again and leave me in peace."

His crossed arm (across the chest) had somehow untangled itself and had begun to stroke the frightened child's back (he guessed she was frightened because she had looked up so suddenly with even wider eyes but at least she wasn't crying or wailing or drooling more than usual).

A second, or maybe thirty seconds, later, he couldn't tell because the stunned silence of the women (scared them into silence as well, possibly) was so soothing, a tea tray, complete with shortbread and scones and jam and clotted cream appeared on his table. He had not wanted to entertain them this way. A cup of tea would have done. Preferably in Muggle plastic cups to signal they could go where they had come from as quickly as possibly. All three of them – even though he could feel that mysterious baby magic working on him already again. She was...calming him, just sitting there and, as he stopped stroking her back, laying her head on his shoulder again. He shouldn't allow it to happen but he had no idea how to stop it, except touching her as little as possible (without dropping her. He could sit her on the ground of course but...).

"Oh lovely," Christine blurted and with a little nod of her head let Severus know that she was pouring herself tea. He didn't mind and he didn't care. He wanted to know what this visit was about and then them out again. And if it required use of his wand, he didn't mind.

"Can you please tell me why you are here?" he asked caustically.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt came to see me," McGonagall said finally. "At Hogwarts. Yesterday night."

"How nice for you," he snapped but she ploughed on, unimpressed by what he had said.

"And he wants you to testify against certain, erm, Death Eaters," she looked him squarely in the eyes, never blinked once.

"No," he said quietly and calmly.

"But..."

"No," he said again. He would definitely not do it. He had done his duty. He was sick and tired of doing other people's jobs. If the Wizengamot, or whatever revered body they had chose to preside over the fates of his former enemies or comrades, couldn't find enough witnesses, they would run free. He would know how to defend himself and he was off to Greenland in only two days anyway.

"Snape, don't you want to see them in jail?" Christine said, suddenly and unexpectedly.

"Is that it? Is that why you brought her and the child? To persuade me? To let me see that I was fighting for the life of those Muggles? Brought a Muggle example? Even you can't be so daft to believe that this will work on me," he had raised his voice and as a precaution, began to stroke Emma's back again.

"I did not."

"Neither Emma nor her would have been in any kind of trouble and you know it. Not yet anyway and he's gone..."

"Who's Emma?" McGonagall asked and he noticed his slip up only now. In his head, she had been Emma for a while.

"Burgundy," he mumbled and almost felt like he was flushing. He wasn't, of course. Burgundy was a ridiculous name. Emma, a solid English one. She should have called her child Emma in any case. Or Mildred, for all he cared. Not Burgundy.

"Emma?" Christine asked, and he could see from the corner of his eyes that she was frowning. "How can you not know the name of her?"

"I do know the name of her," he jumped on the defensive immediately. "But if you must know, Burgundy is the most ridiculous name I have ever heard. It's even more ridiculous than Severus and that's quite high up on the list," he almost exploded. He only just managed to keep his voice under control. But only, only just.

"Why the fuck Emma?" she didn't shriek. Not even close to it. It just sounded like curious wondering.

He met her gaze. "It is a proper sounding name. She will not be ridiculed with a name like that," he added in almost a whisper and her eyes grew almost as wide as her daughter's had before.

"Emma?"

He rolled his eyes and only heard McGonagall's exhausted sigh.

"Now that we've established that Emma is a more proper name than Burgundy, at least according to Severus's opinion, can we get on with the problem on hand?"

"There is no problem on hand," he replied, sitting down. The child snuggled closer to him, burrowed herself closer, he should say, or think.

"Yes, there is. Aurors, as far as I know, will be calling on you in the next few days and even though I told Kingsley...it doesn't matter what I told him anyway, they will call on you, they will be here, possibly, and they will make you take the stand as a witness. You're acquitted so..."

"I won't do it," he said quietly, both of his hands holding onto the girl as she made quiet, quite happy sounding noises on his chest, and she she kept on doing that, he would be poking her in a minute. No falling asleep and drooling on him anymore.

"You probably won't have a chance," she explained.

"I won't be here then," he shrugged it off carelessly. He wouldn't. He didn't want to speak there. He didn't want to explain and he didn't want to be put on display. He had done what had to be done. Nothing more, nothing less. But what he had to do was not something he was especially proud of and his – accomplishments – were no doubt be talked about as well. He did not want that. He did not want to hear what he had done. He did not want to listen to his dark deeds. He had a hard enough time rationalising all that had happened in his own mind.

"I will go with you," Christine said suddenly and stood up, possibly to hand him a cup of tea.

"What?" he bellowed for real this time. He shouted. "Is this your scheme, Minerva? Is this why you brought her and Emma? Is this why you did this? To get her into danger? A woman who knew nothing about the Wizarding World is now being dragged into it? Put her into danger and because Severus Snape somehow has an attachment to her – which I haven't – he will do all he can to protect her? Do you even know how stupid your plan is?"

"She will be well protected and if you..."

"If I nothing!" he shouted angrily. "Kill her on the spot. Use the Killing Curse or a prolonged Cruciatus, I don't care. I will not be blackmailed any longer. Do you know how long I have been guilted into doing something I have not wanted to do? Out of my house!"

"Severus, this is not..." she began but he could see how Christine cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"Snape, she explained," she said softly in a soothing tone he had never heard before. "If those people are..."

"It's all just propaganda," he hissed and spat. "You were not and you are not now in danger. Those Death Eaters running free will maybe hunt me down and kill me but you are not a target. At least not yet. If you," he faltered slightly, realising the fault in his own argument. If he continued to talk to her, to have her come into his house, she would be a target. Soon.

"Severus, if you show up there with her and the child..." Minerva began again.

"No," he said, and got up from his chair and with a last glance at the child, and a rather involuntary pat on the back for the girl, he dumped her on her mother's lap and looked at Minerva again. "I will not testify. I assume you can find your way out," he continued and left his living room very quickly.

Stupid woman. Stupid Gryffindors with their stupid ideas. Stupid him for ever allowing this woman to somehow slip into his life. With a child, no less. They had to be removed from his life, from being any closer to him than all other people before they would really be put into danger.

xx


	21. Chapter 21

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 19 (with names, a lab and a disaster beyond all expectations)

xx

Erwin barely heard the knock on the door, it was so timid but something inside of him nevertheless picked up the noise from the door and he hurried to see who was there and if he could open it. He was physically unable to open doors, or even go near the door if there was someone who didn't know about his existence. This time, he could and Erwin smiled to himself, his ears twitching wildly. It was Miss Lightfoot ma'am and Little Miss Emma, and even though they had left the house not half an hour ago, he knew it was of great importance to them to explain all this to Master Severus Sir. And – Erwin knew this – Miss Lightfoot ma'am had been too calm when Master Severus Sir had called Little Miss Emma only Emma. Now he preferred Little Miss Emma to Little Miss Burgundy but only because his Master Severus Sir did. To him, it made no difference. He would have disliked it, in his own elf-like way, if she had been called – Gellert, for instance, or Sweetie, or Gerlinde (like his mother). Humans should not have the same name as elves in any case. It was just as simple as that.

He opened the door happily to Miss Lightfoot ma'am and her Little Miss Emma and bowed low, his forehead actually touching the ground.

"Good day, Miss Lightfoot Ma'am and Little Miss Emma," he said in a way of greeting since he had seen them when they had been in before (only a half hour before) but they had not seen him.

"Are you calling her Emma too?"

He nodded, but the happy twitch of his ears was substituted by a slow shivering. "Erwin canst call Little Miss Emma Little Miss Burgundy if Miss Lightfoot ma'am likes," he replied in a subdued voice.

"It doesn't make a difference, does it?" she shrugged. "Name is just a name. And she won't be confused because she knows her name is Burgundy. If Snape thinks he's summat better than me, and can just rename my child, fucking let him. Burgundy will be Burgundy."

Erwin's ears twitched in understanding. "Master Severus Sir don't think he better than you. He just know what it like to have uncommon name. Erwin know too. Erwin only elf in England called Erwin and other elves look at Erwin weird and laugh at Erwin because of name," he said sadly. "Master Severus Sir only want to protect Little Miss Emma-Burgundy," he explained slowly. "Not think he better in any way."

"My daughter...oh what the fuck does it matter? Can I see the Lord and Master?" she sneered – but not as prettily as Master Severus Sir did.

"Master Severus Sir are brewing in the cellar but Miss Lightfoot ma'am and Little Miss Emma-Burgundy canst go down, if you likest," he pointed one of his fingers towards the steep stairs that led to the little lab. "Not knock on door, just open", he explained, knowing that his Master Severus Sir wasn't brewing anything dangerous at the moment. He was merely still hovering over the Evil Potion which he didn't know was ruined and he had begun to boil a salve for his knee. And high time to, Erwin thought.

"Are you sure? I don't want him..."

"Master Severus Sir don't mind," he soothed her. "Is strange for him to care for others and he don't know how to show it but Master Severus Sir not kick you out from there."

Erwin was quite certain – but not entirely so. His Master Severus Sir was unpredictable of late. Did things that Erwin had in no way expected and did not do others that Erwin was entirely sure he would. But, if he was sure about one thing, it was the fact that Master Severus Sir was very affected by the baby-magic and that Little Miss Emma-Burgundy had wound him around her chubby little fingers, just like Erwin had anticipated. Nobody could resist baby-magic, not even his surly Master Severus Sir.

Erwin smirked to himself and his ears twitched happily again as he watched how Miss Lightfoot ma'am and Little Miss Emma-Burgundy went down the stairs to the lab and he skipped, happily, off to the kitchen to make a meal for those three.

xx

The stairs were fucking rickety and steep and dangerous and fucking life-threatening and she had to hold Burgundy rather tightly to keep her from slipping down and falling.

She had to control her impulses more. Why she had decided to come and talk to Snape again, she didn't remember. But there she was, in his house. Again. And she had wanted to keep away from him.

But maybe, she rationalised it, it was important to her to let him know that her life was not in danger, and that it wouldn't be, even if he took her to that Wizen-thingy-court with him. As long as he didn't bring Burgundy in immediate danger, she was willing to go and to see those people. She was bloody curious. No doubt about that. Burgundy was the priority but her curiosity upon seeing more people like Snape and the evil old hag. See if they were all like that and what horrible things they had done to make someone like Snape testify against them.

She didn't knock on the door at all. It was one of those old door. Wooden, woodworm all over them, possibly and a metal handle which needed to be pressed down hard and possibly squeaked. She smiled at her daughter before she had to, indeed, press down hard on the handle and stepped into a room. A room she had never seen, or imagined, before.

There was one working bench against one of the walls of the room, a tall, wooden bench, as long as the cellar was itself and upon it where several simmering pots of things. She could see the steam rising from one of them in a rather peculiar pattern. It looked like spirals. Odd, even spirals. Like a staircase and her eyes widened considerably.

She dragged her eyes away from the rising steam. The other walls were all lined with small, tiny, wee jars of some sort. Some of them were labelled, some were not. Most of them seemed to just be just put there – nothing else. It was rather dark as well and the walls were, while having been white-washed a while ago, they now had stains upon them, dark stains, reddish-stains, brownish-stains, weird stains. It was a strange sort of room. Truly strange.

He suddenly looked up as if he had only noticed her now and glared. He truly glared. His eyes bore into hers and he looked ready to kill her.

"What are you doing here?"

"That creature send me down here," she replied evenly, grasping Burgundy, or Emma, in his words, closer to her.

"Snep!" her daughter seemed to have noticed him now as well and was wriggling, despite her tight hold on her. Wriggling to get towards him.

"My elf send you here?"

"Erwin, that's his name, right? He send me to come down here," she nodded and wasn't sure about releasing her baby. It was a weird sort of cellar. It smelt strangely but a second later, Snape had stepped towards her and even though he hadn't really raised his arms to take Burgundy, he stood there and the girl wriggled and she lifted her for him to take her. Without a moment's hesitation, he took her as well and he immediately snuggled up against her.

Once more, she was surprised about the fact that Burgundy could take to someone – just like that. She gurgled happily, seemed to repeat her 'Snep' quite regularly and he didn't look quite as annoyed as she thought he would. Well, he looked in an annoyed manner at her but at least not at her daughter.

Instead, he growled and turned his back to her, took a wooden spoon or something, and stirred in one of those pot-thingies. He let her daughter rather too close for comfort to the unknown substance, and she didn't even know whether it was poisonous or not.

She was too slow, or maybe it was almost too close to warning him, too late that she wanted to tell him not to let her daughter bend down like that, and, after all, it happened all very quickly.

Burgundy made a soft noise in her throat, squeak, as she was wont to do, and blew a raspberry, a bit of spittle quite possibly landing in the pot-thing.

"I'm..." she wanted to say, wanted to apologise with a grin on her face for having Burgundy ruin whatever it was with her baby-spit, when she couldn't believe her eyes. It was...she gasped at the same time that Snape slapped her child.

His flat hand on her tiny cheek. His hand on her cheek, hitting her.

"What the fuck? Get your fucking hands away from my child!" she heard herself scream and snatched the girl from his arms as quickly as she could, and ran. Ran from a man who slapped children.

xx

And suddenly, the girl was in his arms again and giggled and called him 'Snep' and pressed her wet lips against his neck. He felt soothed and calmed, even if the girl and her mother should not be down there in the cellar. Taking Emma down alone was something else entirely – Emma couldn't talk and she didn't understand. Emma was just...company. She couldn't even form complete sentences yet and apart from the basic human wishes, those he had long ago learned to ignore – food, comfort, hugs – she didn't want anything from him. She didn't ask anything more and her eyes always shone when she talked to him.

He would have to have words with Erwin, however. Just to send someone down to his cellar? Especially Christine? Even if he had explained magic, it didn't mean that she would understand potions either. But at least she couldn't know that what he brewed wasn't exactly absolutely legal.

He would keep an eye on her but he had to stir. It was no use. He had to, otherwise, the entire potion would be ruined and all his work for naught. He couldn't risk that. Instead, he hoisted the child up on his hip and made sure his left arm was locked tightly around her before he bent slightly towards the cauldron. The fumes smelled like nothing, weren't poisonous or even harmful for anyone. Besides, the potion was a rather pleasant-looking brew, at least for little girls with its pearly-pinkish-silverish sheen.

He didn't dare speak to her. Not with her mother present and not with a not-quite-legal potion he had to stir.

He never quite understood what happened in the next few second. The girl seemed to gurgle, babble and say 'Snep' and 'poshion' again and suddenly, he didn't know why anyone would do something like that, she pressed her wet lips together and blew. Not just air escaped – bit of spit and drool and whatever came out of children flew from her mouth and her lips and horrified, he watched how at least two drops fell right into his potion. Into his potion. Drool and spit into his potion. It lost its pearly-pinkish-silverish sheen absolutely immediately. The moment those two or three or thousands of drops of spit got immersed into his carefully, beautifully, perfectly brewed potion, it turned brown. Just – mousy brown, the way that woman's hair was still.

It all happened too quickly. He wasn't sure what he did himself. He didn't understand until his hand started to tingle and the woman snatched Emma from him and he began to miss her warmth. It only dawned on him then that he had...hit her.

xx

Erwin was busy preparing tea and biscuits for when those two, or three rather, would come back up from the lab. It would be good to have them sit down for tea, let Master Severus Sir talk to Little Miss Emma-Burgundy and to Miss Lightfoot ma'am. He needed both of them in his life to deal with the things to come but a sudden bang made him almost drop the kettle and he burned his fingers on it. He almost cursed but then he could only see Miss Lightfoot ma'am rushing past him and out of the house with Little Miss Emma-Burgundy tightly clutched to her.

Erwin sighed softly. His Master Severus Sir had probably done another stupid thing, or, more likely, had said something extraordinarily stupid. And with the baby-magic it would have been so simple to cure that particular ailment – never knowing what to say, not knowing how to interact with people, or at least strange people. It was his Master Severus Sir and Erwin didn't know how to teach him to do it differently.

He sighed again and finished the tea. Tea helped all English people, he knew that for sure. Calmly, he finished preparing the cup and, as he knew that his Master Severus Sir would only throw a biscuit on the wall if he was offered one if he was angry, he only carried a mug carefully down the stairs.

The door to the lab was closed and Erwin quietly, and slowly, pushed it open.

He had expected to see his Master Severus Sir pacing and ranting and probably even throwing things but...Erwin gasped. The last time he had seen him like that had been...he shook his head. The night that Master Albus Sir had...died.

Master Severus Sir cowered on the floor, his head in his hands and his hands resting on his knees. He was curled into an upright ball – on the cold cold floor. His shoulders were shaking as they had that night when Erwin hadn't dare disturb either. When he had only let him be and he wasn't sure what to do now. He had no idea what had happened. First Miss Lightfoot ma'am had left with Little Miss Emma-Burgundy and now his Master Severus Sir was cowering on the floor?

He shook himself, his ears absolutely still and knew that now, he couldn't just run. Now, he had to offer what he, as an elf, could.

He stepped quietly closer and just put the mug of tea so that he could smell it and it didn't take long for Master Severus Sir to look up but Erwin wished he hadn't. Erwin had never, never, never, seen his eyes look so empty and haunted.

xx


	22. Chapter 22

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 20 (with many reactions, a torn elf (again) and stench)

xx

It was odd that Burgundy didn't shed a single tear. She never even screamed or kicked or uttered other than just mere surprised noises. It was fucking disconcerting to hear her so quite, whispering in her baby voice only two words. 'Mummy' and...'Snep'.

Christine sat her on her lap as soon as she had entered her own house, as soon as she herself had sat down and looked at the cheek. There was, if you squinted and looked sideways and cocked your head, a little pink tinge. But that was on the other cheek as well.

"Did he hit you, darling?" she cooed in her daughter's ear but the girl seemed utterly nonplussed. No crying, no screaming, fucking nothing.

"Snep, Mummy," she only said and frowned. Nothing more.

But she had seen Snape hit her daughter. She had seen it and he had. She was certain of it. She had seen it and Burgundy had looked a little perplexed.

Doubt bubbled in her mind. What if he hadn't hit her that hard? Or at all? What if it had all been in her mind? No. He had definitely hit her. With his fingers, his hand. She frowned back at her girl.

"Did you move your head out of the way? Did he hit you hard?"

She only looked, frowned, then whispered her favourite word again (Snep) and leant back on Christine's chest, putting her thumb into her mouth. Nothing more.

He had hit her but he definitely had not hit her hard.

Scratching her head, she leant back herself and sighed. Whatever happened, he had raised his hand against her daughter and that was something she would not stand for, whether he had hit her hard to leave bruises or had barely touched her, had put a stop on himself, or his magic had put a stop to him, it didn't matter. Burgundy would not grow to be another woman being used to slaps and being pushed around and hit. She would not stand for that. Never.

"Oh my girl," she whispered back, her own feelings fucking jumbled and confused. She had never met a man who had been kinder and gentler to a child and then this. Then this and this was inexcusable. Or as close to inexcusable as things could go. Slowly, she stroked her child's back, her little head and let her drool on her shirt. It didn't matter that he had been the fucking best babysitter there could be. It didn't matter that he had protected her. He had raised his hand. He might not have hit her hard but he had done it. No way around it. She had seen it with her own eyes, even if Burgundy seemed not to notice at all.

She sighed again and closed her eyes to try and ward off the huge amount of feelings battling inside of her.

xx

His fingers had grazed her cheek. No matter that he had wanted to stop himself inches before his hand had connected with her warm, soft cheek, he had touched her and it hadn't been gentle, it hadn't been kind. He had, for a moment, wanted to hit her hard because she had destroyed what he needed most, wanted most, couldn't live without and coming back to his senses had come a little too late. He had hit a child. Had shown absolutely no self-restraint, no discipline, no humanity. Absolutely nothing. He had become a monster in the moment that he had realised that he wanted to punish her for destroying what he wanted, needed, had to have and he had wanted to take it physically out on her. He was a monster. No way around that fact. He had become his father and the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore and all the men beating their wives and children at the same time. The most despicable being.

Even if he had tried to pull back at the last moment, even if he hadn't hit her hard. It didn't matter. He had, and he had wanted to and this was – one thing he could not possibly forgive himself. On a long list of despicable things to do, this held, and would ever hold, top rank. Hitting a child. A toddler. A baby. The only being which had been decent to him, had been affectionate towards and he had reacted with violence.

He barely felt himself shifting onto his knees and he barely felt the tea cup (how had that come to be there?) smashing in his palm as he was viciously forced forward, he barely felt the clenching in his gut and he barely felt the contents of his stomach unloading onto the cold stone floor. He had just forfeited his right to ever feel anything again, to be ever in any kind of human contact again. He was unworthy. He was nothing but a monster. He was nothing but a despicable being. Nothing but the thing he never wanted to be.

xx

The Aurors Twinkstead, Bubblehurst and Connington-Gilbert and the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt himself, stood in the rain in that dreary part of Sheffield, shielding themselves as well as they could against the downpour. Twinstead and Bubblehurst had not truly dared to used magic where Muggles could possibly see them – not with the Minister himself there. Connington-Gilbert, having learnt his art from the incomparable Alastor Moody, knew how to cast a silent and wordless Impervius Charm on himself and smirked at his two stupid colleagues. Let them be impressed by that wet-behind-the-ears former Auror. He was at least fifteen years his senior and he could have been Minister of Magic, or Head of the Department if he had wanted to but his children, and their safety, had always come first. And when his wife had begged him to leave the country and go to her people (Muggles, the lot) to France, he hadn't waited one minute. Not that such a thing was important to the Ministry but at least he was still alive. Moody was dead, Tonks, a talented young girl, he had heard, was dead, so many dead. He hadn't wanted to be dead. His children needed a father, and his wife needed a husband.

But now it was good to be back in England and to see famous Severus Snape close up for the first time. Word of his deeds of bravery had quickly made the rounds even though Adalbert Connington-Gilbert had arrived back in London mere five days after the Final Battle.

Twinkstead fumbled nervously with her wand in her pocket (which was, by the way, much more obvious to Muggles than just pulling it out and casting a quick charm). She might have a scar the size of Africa on her cheek but she was still only in her late twenties. A child, and if Snape was as stubborn as he was supposed to be (the grapevine...), she would be the first to pull back in fear. He had taught her, apparently. Bubblehurt seemed a bit calmer but kept shooting annoyingly adoring glances at the Minister. Really. Shacklebolt had been a good Auror, but he had never been excellent. His strength had always been in delegating but Adalbert Connington-Gilbert supposed that this was the most important thing a Minister would have to do anyway.

"Adalbert, would you?" he asked and Connington-Gilbert only gave a short nod and knocked, for the third time, on the door.

"Minister, do you think he might not be at home?" Bubblehurst asked in an awed voice. Brown-nosed idiot. Of course Snape was at home but Adalbert himself would have never opened the door to three Aurors and the Minister of Magic. He would have waited as well for them to come and get him. Not that they wanted to get him, the Minister only wanted a _chat_ (though why he would need three Aurors for that, Adalbert didn't know).

"He's at home alright," snarled Connington-Gilbert and rolled his eyes. Idiots, the lot. Shame Moody had fallen. He would have straightened them out in no time at all. Or even Bones. Damn, Amelia was dead as well. All the good old Aurors were dead.

"Go ahead then," the Minister said just a second before the door opened a wee bit and the purple gaze of a pair of elvish eyes looked up at them.

"Master Severus Sir not here," the elf answered in a whisper. "Erwin alone."

"Are you Erwin?" Twinkstead asked sweetly. Damn, that woman wasn't out to get a date, or a future husband (now that was a truly disgusting thought) and sweet-talking to a house elf would never work. What did Aurors learn these days? Who taught them? Adalbert Connington-Gilbert eyes the Minister shrewdly. He had, possibly, taught her. Never one for the dirty work that one. Never getting his hands dirty.

"Let us in," he growled at the elf, his wand peeking out from his sleeves. "We will wait for Snape."

The elf shook his head. "Not here, not here," he repeated and before any of the wizards (and the one witch) could do anything, the door was shut and there was a charm on it. Powerful elvish magic that wouldn't let them touch the door.

"Grand idea, Twinkstead," Adalbert mumbled and turned on his heel. "Write a bloody summons, Shacklebolt. It's no use that way."

xx

She was proud to say that she didn't spill her tea. Even if the loud pop announcing a house elf's presence startled her somewhat terrible, she didn't spill a single drop and the cup never even shook in her hand.

"Erwin very sorry to disturb Headmistress Minerva ma'am. Erwin sorry," he wailed and pulled on his twitching, shaking ears.

"Erwin?" she asked immediately and got up from her chair and walked around her desk. She got down on her knees to be level with the minute elf and took hold of his upper arms. It was best to just hold them somewhere until their hysteria was gone again. "Tell me what has happened. Is Severus hurt? Did he leave as he said? Did something happen to him?"

The elf swallowed convulsively and seemed to want to answer but seemed unable to. Minerva understood and smiled gently. "What can you tell me? Why did you come here to me?"

The elf smiled crookedly and nodded. "Men with magic in front of door. Want to speak to Master Severus Sir but Master Severus Sir cannot speak. Not now," he quivered, the stopped himself.

Minerva took a deep breath and knew she had to take a risk too and, if she was unlucky, a hurt house elf and hurt feelings. But it didn't matter. "Thank you, Erwin. I will take care of Severus. You are aware of this?"

The elf nodded.

"And as such, I need you to allow me inside of your house. I need to speak to Severus about these men. They won't want harm, but I need to tell them about them."

"Not now, not now," the elf wailed and pulled on his ears violently before he let them go suddenly and grasped his towel-toga-dress-thing tightly between his fingers, as if to stop himself from hurting himself.

"Are you sure it's inconvenient now?" Minerva tried gently and put her hands on his bony shoulders. "You do know that I wouldn't hurt Severus, don't you, Erwin?"

"I know," the elf said shakily and Minerva was momentarily startled at the way he used personal pronouns to readily and so correctly. She shrugged it off for the time being and focused on the wee elf.

"I give you my solemn promise, not on my wand, only my promise, that I only want what's best for Severus. I would very much like to see him and talk to him about the men that wanted to see him."

The elf quivered and seemed absolutely torn between something, or rather two things. His small form trembled and his eyes rolled, briefly, back into his head before he focused on her again and his purple eyes shone wetly.

He nodded. He simply nodded and grasped her hand that still rested on her shoulder and his voice shook when he spoke. "Erwin apparate you," he didn't smile, he didn't frown, his face was contorted in a strange sort of in-between and before she could comment on it, or before she could take her hat, she felt herself spun away, landing on her feet less than gracefully.

A strange smell hit her nostrils. A smell she remembered from the few times she had to visit a sick student in the Infirmary. She looked around herself in a dim cellar. A lab the way she had imagined Severus would have but he was nowhere to be seen. Only that dreadful smell and the dim cellar and the quivering elf next to her.

For a moment, panic sucked every other feeling out of her. Panic seized her and she wasn't sure what to do. She looked around wildly but the elf was gone already.

"Severus?" she asked, trying to shove her anxiety and the dreadful smell aside and focus on the moment. "Severus?"

She heard a soft groan, a terrible groan and her eyes darted to a corner of the room. There, in that corner was the origin of that horrendous smell and in the midst sat...

"Severus!" she allowed herself to gasp before she straightened and impatiently shoved a strand of her back in her bun which had escaped during that imperfect elf-apparition. She knew Severus would not take kindly to her mothering him – or worse, to her pitying him. She knew, from so many years of experience, how best to handle this boy.

She cleared her throat. "You're kneeling in your own vomit," she said sternly and carefully vanished all of the visible stench-producing mass before she bent down to him, her knees and back protesting. She had not expected him to look up quite so quickly and her breath caught when his eyes found hers for the briefest of seconds. Those weren't the eyes of a thirty-something man. Those were the eyes of a man desperate and at the same time, the almost begging, pleading expression was the same of that a first, or second year, or maybe a child much younger. She wanted to explore her motherly feelings for once in her life and wanted to embrace the person with the child-like and ancient eyes but it would never do. Not for him in any case. He would hate her even more if she did. Instead, she only cupped his cheek in her hand.

"Get up, Severus," she repeated earnestly once more. "You're kneeling in your own vomit."


	23. Chapter 23

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 21 (with a breakdown, sitting vigil and elf-romance)

xx

There was a voice close by and it took him a few seconds, and then another few, to actually place the voice. He knew her and he knew her well but he...he didn't want her there. He didn't want anyone there. He didn't want to see or smell or taste or feel. He was not worth it and he wanted to be left alone. Left alone to sort out things alone, to take the consequences he knew he should take, he ought to take. There was still some poppies left. It wouldn't hurt to...he could do it. And he had read about enough Muggles who took it. Who took it to...

He should have just died in that damn Shack. He should have just done nothing instead of letting his will to survive overpower him. He should have just died there instead.

He looked up slightly when he felt something on his face. Something warm and soothing. He looked up and saw her face. Minerva's face. She was saying something but he couldn't make out the words at first. He only looked at her and didn't know what to say himself, or that he even could talk with his throat so raw. Why was his throat so raw.

"You're kneeling in your own vomit, Severus," the voice said and he heard the words but he needed a few moments to process them.

Ah, that was why his throat was raw. That was the disgusting taste in his mouth. He had slapped a child and then he had even been so weak to vomit. Not to punish himself, no, he was too much of a coward for that still, but to do something girly like vomiting.

Severus couldn't remember a time when he had loathed himself this much. Not that this was a thought on a conscious level, he was definitely not kneeling in his own vomit thinking about the fact that he was absolutely despising himself – it was rather a regular thought, a common thought, a normal thought now. Unworthy. Loathsome. Dreadful. Violent. Tobias. Horrible. Terrible. Loathsome. Father. Hateful. Disgusting. Nauseating. Sickening. Vile.

He retched and felt the hand move from his cheek to the back of his head, holding hair out of place and a bucket put in front of him on the floor.

"You do know that I hate watching people vomit?" the voice – Minerva – asked in her brogue she only used when nobody else but close colleagues were around.

He tasted bile burning his mouth and his throat further and another gentle hand stroking his back. He didn't want anyone holding his hair back. He didn't want anyone stroking his back. But neither could he move away, or jerk away, or do anything but heave up his guts, and quite possibly the darkened tiny remains of his soul. If there was any of that still left. He wasn't sure anymore, he couldn't tell.

He felt a cold, soothing hand at the back of his neck. He didn't want it there but it wouldn't go away. Something was still stroking his back and a cold, soothing hand just lay, quietly and calmly on his neck. He didn't deserve either of those things. Not someone to hold his hair back, not a hand on the back of his neck and not a bucket which filled slowly with greenish bile.

He heaved again, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Go away," he managed to say but he knew it came out sounding croaky and hopelessly weak.

"I'm not going anywhere until I get you into a decent state of dress and until I can tell you that there are Aurors wanting to talk to you and why they want to do it. I'm not going to insult you by telling that I will stay until you've told me, or at least given me enough hints to figure it out by myself, what has caused this...explosion. But you should know me well enough to know that I will not leave until then. Or at least I will not leave you unsupervised," Minerva, it was Minerva, it really was, replied sternly. His mind almost shut off after she mentioned Aurors.

So they had come for him after all. No acquittal for the murderer. He didn't deserve an acquittal. He didn't deserve much. He didn't deserve a woman witnessing this moment. And even spending time and money on a trial was a waste. He didn't deserve it. The murderer should just be...his stomach clenched but there was nothing he could possibly throw up this time. There was just nothing left inside of him. No contents of his stomach, no bile, and most likely, the remaining shards of his soul, the disgusting blackened pieces were somewhere on the floor or in the bucket.

Somewhere in the back of Severus's head was a tiny voice telling him that he was merely pitying himself. That this was all his own fault. He had brought it all onto himself. He had called Lily a Mudblood. He had made friends with the wrong sort of people. He had joined the Death Eaters. He had wanted to prove himself. He had passed information to the Dark Lord. He had chosen the life as a spy for himself. He had brought himself into the position of being stretched thin between the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore. He had made an Unbreakable Vow. He had brought all of it unto himself. He had killed him. It had been his own fault. It had all led to that.

He should have just died in the Shrieking Shack.

He felt his muscles all go very weak and his arms weren't able to support his body anymore.

He should have just died instead of living this unworthy existence, slapping that little person that had meant something to him.

All those he cared even a little about...he heard a strangled sob and his elbows gave in and his upper body nearing the ground.

He should have just died in the Shrieking Shack.

xx

She was just in time to keep his face from connecting with the stone floor and even though he was nothing but skin and bones, the rest of his muscles seemed to have gone all limp and without magic, Minerva probably would not have been able to lift him back into a sitting, or rather crouching, position. And her wand was a great help in not only cleaning him up but the rest of the floor as well, including spilled potion (whatever that was) and finally, she vanished the bucket as well. He looked as if he had either passed out or fallen asleep from exhaustion or whatever it was that had brought him to act in that matter. Heaving his guts out, wee tears slipping down his face from possibly the pressure he had pent up inside of him, or from the heaving, she wasn't sure. It was a pitiful sight, that much she knew. Whatever it was that had happened, it had severely upset him. And for that to happen, she would have to stay and couldn't let her pity show. But in all honesty – what could it be that had driven him so far to the edge of utter insanity? It could possibly be a delayed reaction to everything he had been forced to go through. To the way she, and the entire Hogwarts-staff and all the students had treated him. A delayed reaction to the torture of the Dark Lord. A delayed reaction to that dreadful year, those years before. It was quite possible, and better out than in but...something must have triggered it.

She sighed and waved her wand in his direction. He rose elegantly into the air and she focused hard on not dropping him, not letting him bang his head against a wall, or anything else. If he woke now, she would hopefully be in for a lecture, levitating him this way, but she would have actually preferred one of those Snape-rants to this helpless, skinny, grey-faced being hovering through the air. It was rather disturbing to see Severus this way. Not the retching, not the kneeling, but the empty, childlike eyes, the almost falling over in his vomit, the giving in of elbows and the eyes that turned upwards-backwards until only the white was visible before they rolled back and his eyes closed.

She wanted a Snape-rant now. She didn't want to see him so weak. She didn't know how to deal with that man there. She didn't know what to do and she felt the very real possibility that she was completely out of her depths at this stage. She had always thought she knew Severus well, had seen him in weak moments as well when he had staggered into the Infirmary after a night with the Death Eaters, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

She opened the door to the cellar wandlessly before she levitated him through it, purple, huge eyes observing her.

She sighed softly. Erwin wouldn't betray Severus and even if she asked him to find out what exactly was wrong with him, or if there was anything physically wrong with him. The elf wouldn't say anything but she needed to know. And Poppy Pomfrey would be a good choice but she doubted the Mediwitch would be coming, and she doubted Severus wanted her there. She took a deep breath.

"Could you get me Lurky from Hogwarts?" she asked friendly. That particular elf would definitely know what was wrong with Severus and she would tell her. Without Erwin having to betray him.

The elf nodded, seemingly frightened of what could happen. "Is Headmistress Minerva bringing Master Severus Sir to bed?" he asked and as she nodded sternly, he popped away. She took another deep, shuddering breath. It was surreal to see Severus, the strong, acerbic, always seemingly self-assured character so weak, so helpless, so incapacitated, so powerless.

"Severus?" she asked softly as she had levitated him up into his bedroom. She wanted one of those Severus-outbursts now about his privacy, about his private life, about having no business in his bedroom. Not that it was anything special. White wallpaper, bed, cupboard. Nothing else. Well, the white wallpaper wasn't quite white again and the furniture looked rather shabby and worn, chipped in places, but the bedding was clean and bright white and she gently put him down on the bed. She thought, for a moment, to get him out of his clothes and into a clean nightshirt but then decided merely to transfigure his trousers and his shirt and took off his shoes by magic.

"Severus?" she asked again and bent over him, his fingertips touching his cheek gently, then, when he didn't react, slapping him lightly. "Severus, for Merlin's sake! I know you don't want to deal with me now but you will. You know that I won't go away and you will wake up now!"

His eyelids fluttered but he made no other move. She huffed, and tried, doing that, to forget that she actually felt rather overwhelmed by the entire situation. She was not a mediwitch, nor a healer. She was a teacher and a sort of Headmistress, or at least Deputy Headmistress. Nothing more, nothing less. She had learned the odd bits of healing when she had worked for the Order but nothing like that. And what did she know about strange nervous breakdowns which included vomiting?

All she could do was wait for the elves to return, send Erwin for food and let Lurky do her work, let her find out if he had a physical problem or if it was only mental. If it was only mental, she would take things from there. Get him to talk to her. That would possibly help. Or maybe get the portrait of Albus down. Or better yet, give him a copy and have the old man living part time with Severus. Or maybe just take him back to Hogwarts with her. He would be safe at Hogwarts, he would be well cared for there. There were people there who still owed him an apology and who would doubtlessly wanted to give him one and who would care for him as well. He would be better there. Better than being alone in that...

That Woman.

Her eyes widened. She had triggered it. Minerva was sure. Who else was there? Nobody came to this house, according to Lurky, who had it from Erwin, apart from That Woman and her child.

It was only a matter of seconds that she had to wait until the two elves returned and she send both of them, Lurky first, then Erwin, a stern glare.

"Was That Woman here?" she asked the male elf.

He bit his thin lips and pulled on his ears. "Yes," he whispered and his shivering started again.

"Fine, that is all I needed to know," she said earnestly. "Could you make Severus some broth and some tea?"

"Yes, Erwin willst make broth and tea for Master Severus Sir and Headmistress Minerva," he suddenly smiled, then turned his head and positively beamed at Lurky. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with the shallowly breathing man, she would have wondered about that for longer than two seconds. But instead, and after beaming at Lurky for another second, he turned and rushed from the bedroom.

Minerva sighed. "Lurky, would you please check Professor Snape for any internal injuries?" she asked, conjuring a chair and trying to seem calm at least and stop marvelling at the elf's ability to work efficiently over the patient and at the same time, blush brightly.

So she would have to ask sooner rather than later if she had to give another elf away from Hogwarts. It wouldn't kill her but Severus would...she allowed herself a smile. Elfkins were happy little creatures and elf-parents seriously cute to look at. Severus would hate it. If he stayed there. Not that she wanted him to stay there but...her mind was in a jumble. She was confused. And elf-romance wasn't very high on her list of priorities at the moment.

"Wha..." the man asked from his bed and she straightened.

"Severus?" she asked. "Lurky?"

"Master Severus is fine, ma'am. He just is exhausted and needs rest," she said solemnly to her, then turned to Severus. "But only if you don't drink potion with bad plant anymore, Master Severus," she wriggled her finger at him and then rushed out of the room, much as the other elf has done.

Potion with the bad plant? She frowned, then deepened her frown when he tried to sit up.

"No, you won't. You stay right there and wait for the broth and the tea," said she, getting up and pushing him back on the pillow.

"Minerva, stop," he croaked and his eyes had turned to cold stone again as they found hers.

She sighed dramatically. "No, Severus, you can stop. You will stay here and you will explain why I found you retching in your cellar when you should be talking to the Aurors."

His eyes remained cold, his pale, grey face neutral. He didn't say anything. He just wore a mask of indifference.

"It's just to talk. You know that you've been acquitted," she knew she wasn't talking much sense, and that she definitely wasn't saying what she wanted to say but she needed to keep him with her, not dropping off, not fainting.

"Leave," he said and his voice betrayed his weakness. She only arched her eyebrows.

"Are you ready to tell me why you've thrown up your intestines?" she asked.

"Leave," he repeated and he did sound dreadful.

"No. I've left before when I shouldn't have and I'm not now," she shrugged and pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down again, her eyes never leaving his. "But actually, you do have a choice."

"You will leave now. That is your only choice."

"I don't think so," she shrugged again. "You can stay here with me, or come back to Hogwarts with me. It's up to you but I'm not letting you out of my sight again. You don't understand, Severus."

"You're only trying to soothe your own guilt," he croaked.

"Possibly," she argued coldly back, ignoring the stab of pain in her chest. "But I wouldn't let anyone out of my sight only minutes after they knelt in their own vomit and filled another bucket. Nobody. Guilt or not," she never took her eyes off him and he still did look rather sick. But at least he still had a bit of fight in him.

"I want you out," he said.

"We can repeat that over and over again. I'm not leaving. You can lay here and stare at the ceiling but I'm not leaving."

"Fine," he said, his eyes, cold and unfeeling, wandering to the ceiling and staying there.

xx

He could smell the Dreamless Sleep in his tea and in the soup. He was almost certain that it hadn't been Minerva, sitting there and watching him, spiking it. He was almost certain that it had been the dreadful elf, who would, indubitably, be given clothes at the next possibly moment. His knees trembled.

The Strengthening Potion was gone. The thing he needed was gone. He was stuck there without his potion. He didn't have the strength to go on without it. And worse, the thought that it had been spoiled made him slap a child. An innocent soul. The thought alone...the thought that she had destroyed his potion – he had slapped her.

And that was why he did not refuse any of the spiked tea and soup. He needed sleep, he knew. Otherwise his head would never work if he didn't. And only if his head worked correctly, he could figure out what to do. To run away or to just give up on life.

He let his eyes shut slowly, ignored Minerva. If she killed him, all the better. Or if Christine killed him in his sleep, it was at least over.

xx

She had left the elves in charge. They needed some distraction, otherwise, Minerva knew, there would be some elfkins running around sooner than expected. The eyes the two made at each other...on top of everything, that couldn't happen. Not now anyway, even if she usually never stood in the way of elf-romance. At least their ears hadn't intertwined yet – because then...

Focus, she told herself. She needed to get to the bottom of it and even if she had no confirmation that it had anything to do with That Woman, at least she could question her.

She had transfigured her clothes into a more Mugglish style and had crossed the street quickly. She would just be polite and ask her if she knew anything. Nothing more, nothing less.

But if she had anything to do with Severus being this miserable, That Woman had no idea what she had coming. That Woman was in big trouble if she had pushed Severus to this. And she would take Severus to Hogwarts with her, no matter what. He would not be subjected to That Woman anymore.

Trying to control her anger (which was unjustified anger, since she didn't even know that she had done anything, or had been there), she rapped on the door. A half minute later, it was opened a crack and four eyes stared at her.

"Good day to you," Minerva managed a little smile.

"What the fuck do you want?" That Woman replied angrily.

"I'd like to talk to you. Just talk," Minerva said evenly.

"There is nothing I have to say," That Woman snarled. "He hit my child and you can say all you fucking want, I'm not going to let him handle my daughter again."

Minerva gasped and jammed her foot into the door before the door could be banged in her face. "He did what?"

"He fucking hit my child!" she shouted and banged the door, once more, against Minerva's foot.

_**xx**_

_**A/N: ff dot net still has problems allowing you to update stories in the big sections like Harry Potter. I found a way around it and since people kept PM'ing me, I thought I'll tell you here how to update: you click until you get the error-message and then replace 'property' in the link with 'content'. In case you're wondering. **_


	24. Chapter 24

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 22 (with a Gryffindor, a silvery thread and the truth form one perspective)

xx

"Do you people fucking think you can do everything? Just storm into my life and turn it fucking upside down?" she shrieked, and almost scared, or seemingly scared, pushing herself and her back against the wall in the dark corridor.

"No," Minerva said calmly. "I just wish to know what you mean when you say Severus hit your child."

"What's there to mean other than he fucking hit my child. He. hit. my. child. Nothing more, and nothing less," she exclaimed, angry.

"He can't have," Minerva argued, not believing her ears. Severus would never hit someone. He would not raise his hand against anyone. She knew about his father. She had heard, years too late, that he had come back to Hogwarts every Summer with welts and bruises. Damn Poppy for keeping secrets. Damn Albus for not doing anything. Damn her for not knowing, not suspecting. Damn her, damn all of them. But not Severus. He wouldn't do this to anyone. And not to the child he had held so tightly before. Definitely not.

"He fucking did," she said fiercely. "And if you think I'm going to do anything else for him, or for any of you, you're fucking mistaken."

Minerva, to be honest, was gobsmacked. Why would this woman lie? Why would she invent a story like that? Sorely tempted to just lift her wand and take a look inside this woman's brain, she only looked in her eyes. There was no lie in them. There was only anger and fierce rage. Not that Minerva would blame her, if it was true but Severus? Severus? Hitting a child? She could believe her ears, nor her eyes and the tight grip this woman had on her child. It was, and the Headmistress didn't know much about children, like she didn't want to let her daughter out of her arms, let alone out of her eyes. She even pressed the girl's face against her neck and buried her own nose in the soft hair.

Minerva sighed and yes, if she believed that woman, all the pieces in the puzzle fell in place. If he had hit the child, his reaction was explainable. His reaction was understandable. If he had understood what he had done, and had acted according the the presupposition that this turned him indeed into a child-slapping monster, he would vomit. He would react this way. He would. She sighed again.

Asking the woman why made no sense. She would only throw her out anyway. She needed a different tactic.

"And is your daughter alright?" she asked calmly. "Did she cry much?"

And those, she noticed with some satisfaction, seemed to be the right questions. The woman sighed herself and kissed the girl's head and looking rather confused than angry, shook her head.

"She didn't cry at all," she said defeatedly. "Is this some kind of magic that will..." she was fierce again, "Is there some kind of magic that would prevent her from crying?"

Minerva pondered the question for a moment, shifting from one foot to another. "No. She could if she herself was a witch but the odds of that are...do you have any witches in the family?"

"What?"

"Wizards? Witches?"

"No, of course not," she huffed. "And my daughter is not one of you people either."

"I thought not. So she hasn't done anything strange? Hasn't..."

"She's just a child, for fuck's sake. And she hasn't done anything. But Snape might have kept her from crying."

Minerva shrugged one shoulder. "But you would have noticed if she had seemed to be crying, I suspect. I understand that children...usually...get quite red faces?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "She didn't cry. There were no marks on her cheek either and I'm thinking about going to the police anyway. He's not hitting..."

"No police, Miss Lightfoot," Minerva interrupted maybe a tad too quickly. She knew the moment the words left her mouth and as her mien changed immediately into one of suspicion that she had said the wrong thing. "What I mean to say, Miss Lightfoot is that we..." her thoughts were spinning but she managed to grasp the right one just in time, "might be able to see exactly what's happened."

"What the fuck do you mean, see exactly what's happened?"

Minerva brightened. That would work. Even with Muggles. "May I call a house elf into your home? I understand you have met Erwin?"

"The little creature, yes," she looked confused again. "Why would that help me see what's happened?"

"We have magical means to review, shall we say, a memory? All it would take was for you to think about the incident, and for me to extract it for the time being and once dropped into a stone basin we call a Pensieve..."

"You're screwing with me," the woman muttered.

"No, I am not...as you put it, screwing with you," she rolled her eyes at the sheer vulgarity. "Pensieves are like, what do you call it? Vision-Tellies."

"Televisions? Tellies?"

"Yes, that," Minerva nodded. And by watching your memory..."

"You extract my memory? From my head? Forget it, you hag."

"That's the only way you can find out for certain for has happened," Minerva explained. "I can get Severus's memory, if I want and see for myself but don't you think that it would be better to see your point of view as well?"

"What does he have to say for himself?" the woman asked suddenly.

She closed her eyes for a long moment. What to reveal, what to tell? That he had heaved his guts up? That he had knelt in his vomit? That he had cried? That he loathed himself? That his eyes had been more frightening than anything else she had seen in a long time?

"He is distraught," she said with eyes closed, not exactly knowing if that was too much to reveal, not enough, or if that was betraying Severus. Probably the latter. Most likely.

"What do you mean, he's distraught? He hit my child!"

"Yes, you see..." she sighed. She couldn't remember ever sighing so much in such a short span of time. But what was she to say? That Severus had more than once clawed at his own hands when Longbottom or one of his other students had been dreadfully distracted in his class and he had just wanted to pull their ears and bang his student's heads together? When he had been awfully tempted to just slap sense into Potter? When he had...

Shaking her head to herself, she focused on the woman, clutching her child. "Severus is not one of those...drawer-people. You cannot put a label on him. He cannot be labelled. He is...he stood under so much pressure for such a long time and now that pressure has been lifted, he has to begin to understand himself again. And I understood there was a potion involved? He was taking..."

"He was cooking something and Burgundy was being herself and accidentally spit into it," she shouted, startling her child. "Did he tell you that he just fucking renamed my child as well?"

"No," she answered briefly. "And that's not really relevant now, is it?"

"It is fucking relevant. He hit my child."

"Could I see the memory? Can I call an house elf and extract your memory? We can go and look at it together and..."

The woman frowned. "What happens with my memory?"

"Nothing. Once we're done looking at it, you will get it back," she explained.

"And you think I'll let you near me?"

"I had hoped so, yes. Look," she sighed. Again. "I need to see this. I've known Severus since he was eleven years old and I have never known him to be physically violent. He had always other ways of dealing with his rage and I yet fail to understand what exactly made him slap your child."

"She spat in his fucking cooked soup thing," she cried. "Nothing more. Next thing I know is that his hand is on my child's cheek!"

Minerva ignored her outrage and took a deep breath. "Conti!" she called as quietly as she could and she didn't even care about the startled expression on the woman's face and waited, as patiently as she could, for the elf. He appeared only two seconds later and Minerva gave him a small smile.

"What can Conti do for Headmistress McGonagall ma'am?"

"Will you grab me the Pensieve from the Headmast...erm, my office?"

"Yes, immediately," the elf smiled and his ears twitched and he popped away again.

"What the hell?"

"Miss Lightfoot, please understand. I want to help Severus, even if your attitude towards him changed. Understandable. I truly do but I haven't given him up yet and he needs everyone he can get in his corner at the moment and I will not leave him. I beg you to let me take your memory. You don't have to enter if with me but I...I need to."

"I can go into my own memory? Is that what you're saying? I can just walk into my memory and look at it again?"

Minerva nodded. It would be strange for a Muggle to grasp the concept but she didn't seem to be quite so adverse to it now. She had almost won. Almost. The brief silence was interrupted by Conti and the heavy Pensieve he held onto with one finger and hovered at the same time mid-air. He smiled and brought it to her living room. Unasked. She looked at the woman with barely concealed curiosity but she seemed resigned and curious and followed the Pensieve and the elf.

xx

She held on tightly to Burgundy. You could never tell when those people began to strike. She certainly hadn't expected Snape to hit her and she was yet undecided whether to trust this stern-looking old hag. In any case, it was better not to trust anyone. She had trusted Snape and to what end? Another male in her life (or not in her life, better out than in) who could only express anger by lashing out, by striking, by hitting, by showing violence. Against an innocence person. Against her daughter, who should have grown up never knowing how being hit hurt – physically and emotionally. It didn't impress Christine in the slightest that she hadn't cried or screamed or had shown any sign of being hurt at all. It didn't matter. She had known the hard hand of a man. And that shouldn't have happened.

She should possibly move away. Go anywhere. Away from her hometown, away from people who only knew her as Christine the punching bag with bad taste in men. Away from memories, from thoughts about David and Snape and...why was it only ever men, or boys, that hurt her? She could take Shannon and her sometimes hurtful remarks any time. She could give as good as she got when it came to other women, but men? David...better not think about him now. But if that stone bowl there did what the old woman said it did, wouldn't it make it possible to review her memories of when David had gone? What she had done to drive him to his snobbish father? To posh Brighton?

Closing her eyes, she tried to push all the thoughts about her son away. She had never hit him either. Nobody but his father...and maybe. No. not now. But maybe...no, she didn't tust this woman to keep her secrets. To see the things she didn't want her to see. Or – maybe she should still refuse to do it. But of course she was fucking curious why Burgundy had not made a single sound. Why there had been absolutely no pinkish, red marks on her cheek. Why there had been absolutely nothing. And if the old woman could somehow shed light, it would only help. What had she said? Only thinking about the thing how it had happened and she would extract it. Maybe then, she wouldn't have to think about it all the time. About the way that Snape had looked then. The brief glimpse she had been able to catch of him. The absolutely horrified look on his face even before she had snatched Burgundy out of his arms. He had definitely not looked like a man who had just got his satisfaction or had re-established his power by a slap. He had...she squinted at the old woman. What had she really wanted to say? About him? What had she implied?

She took a deep breath and looked at her. "Well, I'm thinking about it now. Can we get on with it? What do we do?"

The old woman frowned in confusion, then her visage brightened. "You're thinking about it now? I'm going to put my wand against your temple and you will feel a slight pulling sensation. It might tickle a bit but won't hurt. You will make the process easier by actually allowing me to take the memory instead of resisting it," she explained eagerly.

"You will not rummage around in my head?" Christine asked, betraying her fear of letting the woman see what she had no business of seeing but she shook her head immediately.

"No. Absolutely not," she replied. "If it's any consolation to you, I have done this for a long time and at one time in my life, even professionally. I am trained in doing this."

"What did you do?"

"I will explain at another time, I promise. Now just think about yesterday and the way it all happened," the old woman said calmly and Christine closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly the feel of his cellar and the way he had almost smiled at Burgundy before...and the way he looked afterwards.

She felt something against her temple but forced herself to remain calm. To let her take that. To make it simpler for her. To stop her thoughts.

It tingled and it seemed to scratch a place inside her head that ought not to be scratched and itched despite the scratching and her eyes flew open in surprise at the sensation and opened even wider when she watched how a silvery thread seemed to come out of her temple. A thread. Out of her head. She couldn't help the shiver that ran through her but after two seconds, or two minutes, it was all over and the old woman smiled gently, almost maternally.

"All done. Now we're putting this in here," she said, as she seemed to shake her wooden-stick-wand over the stone bowl and the silvery thread fell into it.

"That's what memories look like?" Christine's curiosity had won. Nobody would believe her this. They would have her committed before she could finish telling the tale. And with every right. This was too surreal for words.

"Yes. In general at least. They can vary very slightly in colour but generally, they are silver like this."

"Mh," Christine muttered, clutching her child. She wouldn't go inside the memory, if that was what it was, without Burgundy. She wouldn't let Burgundy out of her sight anyway. Never again.

"And now we just...let us fall into it," the old woman hesitated slightly. "Just put your head close to the memory and it...the rest just happens but I promise it won't hurt you or your daughter."

Christine nodded mutely and bent over the bowl. It looked like...soup. Soup with a silvery thread inside until...a few pictures formed and she felt drawn towards them. Just a glimpse of Snape and of Burgundy and she suddenly found herself falling, or not falling, forward and...the thump on the ground she had expected never came. She found herself, suddenly and surprisingly with Burgundy securely in her arms standing on her own two feet in Snape's cellar. Next to herself. Next to Burgundy.

"What the hell?" she mumbled.

"This is your memory," the old woman said, rather friendly sounding next to her and there was her hand on her arm. The old woman had put a consoling? hand on her arm. She shot her a glance but her memory-self, or herself, began to talk to Snape and she kept her attention on her daughter and on Snape. It was too odd to see herself speaking, like on a videotape and she hated watching videotapes of herself. Or hearing herself speak. It was too odd and it didn't sound like herself.

Did she really stand like that? It was almost slouching. Her shoulders hung forward and...she couldn't stand like that. She stood tall and erect, not bent over like this. Was this really how she held Burgundy? It looked almost careless. Immediately, she tightened her hold on her child but the other her didn't but complied to her daughter who had raised her hands to Snape.

Her other daughter, the one currently tightly clutched in her arms squealed in delight upon seeing something...someone.

"Snep!" she shouted loudly, spittle flying.

The old woman next to her said nothing but her hand twitched maybe a bit on her arm. "Snep. Mummy, Snep!" her daughter raised her own hands towards herself and the Snape who was holding her.

"Quiet, Burgundy," she said distractedly. Had she noticed how gently he had held her? That his hand had immediately stroked her back? He held her like she should be held.

"This is..." she gulped. Snape looked at her daughter with a soft, gentle, kind expression on his face.

"Mh," the old woman said simply and the hand withdrew and she could see how the old woman moved closer to Snape and her daughter.

"...fucking odd," she continued and frowned at Snape. If she were in a position like the old woman, she would have never guessed that within the next moment, he would hit Burgundy. He certainly didn't look like it now.

He shot herself, well, not herself but herself standing next to herself, a stern glare and turned to the pot-thing and she walked closer to see what was in, coming to stand next to the old woman who had gasped softly. She didn't question it for the time being but was transfixed at the sight in front of her. A beautiful soup or something like it, tea, maybe, or any kind of concoction was in the pot and she frowned. Any moment now.

No, first, he had taken something and he seemed to want to say something to Burgundy but then thought better of it, the way he turned his head towards the girl, and then back to the pot-thing. He stirred and it happened just as quickly as it had before. Burgundy blew the raspberry and Snape's expression changed as immediately as the concoction did. From the beautiful pinkish-silver-mother-of-pearl-sheen to a dull grey-brown-odd and his face seemed to fall. Literally. His mouth dropped open, his eyes widened and if she had to give a name to his expression, it would have been...crestfallen, angry, disappointed. A blend. Of those three.

Here it came. His hand was raised and it fell down on Burgundy's cheek. Only – yes, from this close up, it still was on Burgundy's cheek but his movement had slowed that...it almost looked as if he had slowed it so much that it was merely a pat. It still made a sound but it didn't sound as dreadful as she remembered and his expression changed as quickly as it had before.

From the anger and crestfallenness and the disappointment, it was merely – horrified. He was horrified.

The next thing was that she snatched her daughter away from him and his face was worse. Worse than she remembered. Utterly, completely...horrified. Terrified.

The memory, or the thing that she was standing in now faded to herself running up the stairs and she felt the hand on her arm again and she was standing in her living room again.

"Well," the woman said, "this is...thank you for letting me watch it," she stuck her wooden-wand-thing into the stone bowl and the silvery thread was pulled up and somehow, with more tingling and more scratching than before, deposited in her head – only it felt different this time. Like she had two memories of the same event. The one where she knew that he had tried to stop himself and the other where she didn't know. Where she thought she knew exactly that he had hit her.

Her head began to throb. "Fuck," she said to herself.

The McGonagall woman cleared her throat. "That just about sums it up," she said and as Christine looked at her, she seemed to have paled three shades since she had stepped into her house.

xx

He stretched slowly, his eyes closed. He couldn't remember ever sleeping so well. It had been so restful and he could finish the Strengthening Potion and then take some and flee to Greenland. He could go and begin a new life.

But there was something at the back of his head, nagging him to remember. It was all alright, wasn't it? The potion was simm...

His eyes flew open and he sat up straight, his chest constricting painfully.

It was gone. They were gone. He had...

His eyes darted wildly around the room.

It was gone. She had...and then he had...

He bit his lip hard and curled himself up into a ball, pulling the duvet up to his nose.

xx


	25. Chapter 25

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 23 (with worries, a last plan and the almost-destruction of furniture)

xx

"Get up," he heard. "Wake up," he heard. "Get up, for Merlin's sake," he heard. "If you don't get up, I'll hex you," he heard but the long-waited for hex never came.

"Get up," he heard again. And again. And again. "Wake up," he heard again and again and again.

He never listened. It was too simple to just stay there and feel his knees knocking against his chest and his thighs against his stomach. It was too comforting to ever leave and even his growling stomach had some time after or just before whatever, given up on shouting for food. His dry throat would never do for talking and since he didn't have to say anything, it was alright either way. He didn't answer to 'get up' or 'wake up'. He was where he wanted to be and he didn't want to move. He was fine. He was perfectly fine where he was. Not hurting anyone. Not doing any damage. He could just stay ther euntil he had the courage, and the strength, to do the … unspeakable.

"If you don't get up," he heard once, early morning, late at night, the middle of the day, it was all the same to him, "I will not only get Neville Longbottom here, but every obnoxious student you have ever taught and they will all do dunderheaded things and you will have to save them." He didn't care.

"If you don't open your eyes now and get out of that curled up position in your stinking bed, I will make you eat double-chocolate, no, make that triple-chocolate biscuits. And will fill you up with hot chocolate and cocoa and chocolate milk and I will make sure you get nothing but chocolate to eat." He didn't care. Chocolate might be vile but he didn't believe her threat.

"If you don't open your eyes and get up," he heard once, "I will...I don't know what I'll do, Severus. I don't know," he heard a sob but he didn't care, "you can't stay here just like that. I know you were always devoted but...you can't," he heard another sob, "I have so much to tell you and I think you don't know how much everyone values what you've done." He didn't care. Nothing he had ever done had come to much. He had botched it all up. Spectacularly. He would be off much better in his bed.

"If you don't get up," he heard once, "there's nothing I can do. But I won't go away until you do and Hogwarts can go to hell. I almost killed you and you expect me to just leave you alone here? I let my nature get the better of me, without stopping to think about what had really transpired and...you haven't forgiven me yet. I can't leave without you forgiving me. I know it's selfish, Severus, but I can't help it. I won't leave. Do you hear? I won't leave." He didn't care. He was not the one to forgive. He couldn't forgive. There was nothing to forgive.

"I want you to know," he heard once, "that you didn't hit that Ms-Lightfoot-woman's child. You didn't hit her, Severus. You may have touched her but the child asks after you and it's only the mother who is reluctant. At least a bit reluctant. But if you stay here for much longer, I will get her and she will bad-mouth you out of this bed and back to your usual...she will say that dreadful word so much that you won't be able to stand it. Or maybe the girl will cuddle you for so long...Get up, Severus. Just get up!" He didn't care. He had hit the child. He had killed his friend. He had killed Christine's partner and Emma's father. He had killed. He had tortured. He had done all this. He didn't care about any forgiveness or any love. He didn't want it. He didn't need it. He needed his bed and he needed to feel his thighs touch his stomach and his knees tickle his nose.

He needed nothing else, least of all someone who reminded him of what a monster he was.

xx

"It's been almost two weeks," she said to the quivering elf. "I don't care if you keep him alive, barely, by making him drink while he truly sleeps. He needs to get out of this bed and as far as I understood, you are responsible for his welfare, are you not?"

"Erwin are," the quivering elf said, obviously unused to rages which was, in itself rather odd.

"Then do something!" she cried. "I can't even get him to open his eyes and that...Miss Lightfoot still hasn't decided whether she can trust him enough to come near him again or not. Stupid woman. 'I don't know if I can trust him even if he did try to pull back...bla bla, f-word, f-word, f-word. I don't care. If he doesn't get out of this bed..." she slowed down, sank on Severus's couch and sighed. It wasn't like her to lose her temper this way. She should have, and usually did have, more control than this. But for the last eleven days, she had done nothing but send owls to pretend to have a modicum of interest in Hogwarts and to try and coax Severus out of his foetal position in his bed. She knew she shouldn't do it. She knew she was overdoing it only to assuage her own guilt. She knew she was guilty of believing the obvious and treating him like an outcast – she had even tried to kill him, for Merlin's sake – and despising him for things he had not done, or had done on orders. She knew it was the wrong way of dealing with it. She knew she should just let the elf help him, she knew he didn't want her to see him like that and to mother him like this – but it was his own fault. She would have never been forced to mother him, to sit by his bedside if he hadn't decided to just turn his back on the living and hide in his bed. She would have never acted that way if he hadn't...

And now she was taking it out on the poor elf who worked so tirelessly for Severus and for her. He was the one, after all, who managed to give Severus at least a little water and a few nutrition-potions.

Minerva just felt dreadfully helpless and that wasn't a feeling she liked very much.

"Erwin, erm, maybe, have a suggestion?" the elf asked timidly.

She waved her hand tiredly to allow him to speak.

"Headmistress Minerva can just go to Miss Lightfoot ma'am's house again and ask. Not tell, just ask. Or I can..."

She barely noticed the personal pronoun this time. It was a tic this elf had, it seemed and it had happened to often in the past few days to be surprising and too uninteresting to think about it now.

"I've tried going, Erwin," she said tiredly, remembering all too well the times when she had knocked on Ms Lightfoot's door and the woman was too confused to give an answer much less to agree to come and help. She couldn't even blame her. Not that she had any children of her own but there had been times when she had been so angry with Severus (for points taken unfairly, or for detentions handed out unnecessarily) that she had avoided him for a couple of days. But this was bigger and that made her angry at the woman. This wasn't about some silly points and a bit of a slap which hadn't even been a slap. This was about Severus's life. He was skin and bones as it was and now those days with him not eating a decent meal, only being kept from dying of thirst or starving himself to death by potions and the trickery of an elf, it was a miracle he hadn't just died already. That he hadn't given up on himself yet. Even though – it felt his way. It felt like...a slow kind of suicide. Not eating, not drinking, not moving. Willing himself to die, almost.

And by Merlin, she would not let him. Before that happened, she would call Poppy (which she would have done if she hadn't had that elf) and make her...do something.

"Fine," she said, her eyes closing slowly, "go to her and try to convince her to come over and talk sense into him. I've run out of other ideas."

He nodded eagerly, even if he did seem a little subdued and almost immediately, popped away.

Allowing herself five minutes, or maybe twenty, she kept her eyes closed and let her mind drift away to a place she didn't have to think about anything at all.

xx

She had heard. She didn't have any chance but to hear that Severus was poorly and punishing himself by staying in bed and refusing food and drink. The old woman had told her more than once, the last time almost begging her to help. But...she couldn't. She couldn't possibly leave Burgundy alone and taking her with her? Over there? Even if she still asked about 'Snep'? Not really. She couldn't do that. Not yet, even though...

David had written again. He was still seeing this girl and his father still hated it and there were – David wrote – fights. It was only a matter of time, Christine had thought, until he would call and beg for money to find his own flat. Or maybe a way to come home even though she shot that thought right from her head. She didn't want to hope too much. Not this way. And besides, that would only mean she was second best and that this girl would...well, that girl was down there and him not leaving her seemed to be the one thing he and his father fought about. It was rubbish even thinking about it. He would not come back to her.

Was she, and her daughter, really responsible for Snape behaving that way? For not eating, not drinking, just giving in to his depression? How else should she have reacted? Just...let him hit Burgundy? Or was that just what had been the final straw, as the old woman had implied? Christine knew about last straws but it seemed to her that either that McGonagall woman was wildly exaggerating or that Snape was taking this all to extremes. What was one person more or less in your life, she wondered while a tiny voice inside her head argued with this. Quite a lot, the tiny voice said, if it's an important person. But...she and Burgundy couldn't be so very important to him. And certainly not important enough to just lay down and starve himself to death.

She had thought about it so often that she couldn't reach a single sensible conclusion. It was all going round in circles in her head, day and night it felt like. Day and night that she couldn't think about anything apart from that one topic. And of course her daughter, whose cries for 'Snep' were beginning to get annoying. And you'd think that a baby forgot quickly.

And once more, she sat in her kitchen, feeding Burgundy while she herself only longed for a strong cup of tea and a very chocolatey biscuit, thinking about the entire matter. She knew she should forget and not care. She knew it was none of her business. She wasn't even in his life. Not really. And he wasn't really in hers. It was all circumstantial anyway and a matter of cause and effect. She, or at least her daughter, couldn't mean so much to him after such a short time. As she sat and thought and didn't focus too closely on her daughter squishing a banana between her baby-fingers, a sudden pop startled her.

A pop and the sudden appearance of those purple eyes. And the tiny creature.

"Erwin are very sorry to disturb," he began before she could even scold him, bowed low before she could say something. "Miss Lightfoot ma'am, Master Severus Sir is dying. Not today and not tomorrow but soon."

"Why?" she asked coldly, determined not to be affected.

"Master Severus Sir is refusing food and drink and only Erwin force him to drink when he sleep. Not good for Master Severus Sir and Master Severus Sir is truly unhappy. Erwin have never seen Master Severus Sir this unhappy. He catatonic. Not reacting to any words and Erwin don't know what to do. Erwin need Miss Lightfoot's help."

"Why should I help him? He hit my child."

The elf shook his head. "Master Severus Sir not knowing how to manage anger well and not knowing how to be with other people he like. He like Miss Lightfoot ma'am and Erwin think that Master Severus Sir love Little Miss Burgundy-Emma but potion was making Master Severus Sir insane and it's all Erwin's fault anyhow," his ears twitched wildly and he wrung his hands painfully. "Erwin made potion kaputt even before Little Miss Burgundy-Emma spat into potion. But Master Severus Sir think he need potion to survive and Erwin have done great harm. Great harm," he wailed and suddenly, something seemed to overwhelm him and he ran to the nearest cupboard and banged his head wildly against it. "I had orders and I disobeyed them. I am a bad elf, a bad elf. I destroyed Master Severus Sir," he shouted as he still hit himself. A tiny red spot appeared on the cupboard and he didn't even stop then. Christine was dreadfully alarmed and put Burgundy in her chair (she cried as well but a bleeding, shouting creature in her home was...harder to accept for her neighbours than a crying child) and rushed to the creature's side, grabbed his shoulders and because she didn't know what to do, she pulled him, bloody forehead and all, against her chest, patted his bony back and said the some words of comfort she always said, almost, to her daughter.

"There, there, little one. It's alright. I'm here. There's nothing to be alarmed about. There's no reason to hurt yourself. Everything is fine. I'm here now. Mummy's here. Everything is okay. No need to hit yourself."

Big sobs wrecked through the tiny body and she felt him shivering against her, and a minute later, hands clawing at her own back, hugging her back fiercely.

"Miss Lightfoot ma'am is so good to stupid despicable Erwin," she heard, interrupted by sobs.

"Now, now, I'm not good to you and you're not despicable," she replied but frowned. "When you're calm again, will you tell me again what's going on?"

He began to wail wildly again and she had to pat his back again. "There, there, now stop, calm yourself, Erwin. Just calm yourself."

She patted and grimaced at Burgundy and smiled at Burgundy and was trying to console two at once, glad in that moment, that she never had twins, and after a few minutes of loud crying from two sides, the creature, Erwin, stopped and pulled back. There was a bruise on his forehead and the skin had broken in two places.

She smiled gently at him. "Better now?"

"Erwin didn't mean to...Erwin forbidden to hurt himself and to cry. Erwin no use," he moved towards the cupboard again but Christine could pull him back.

"No, Erwin. No more hitting in this house, alright?" she exhaled slowly when he nodded, "Good. Now tell me, did I understand you right? You did something to the potion that Burgundy spat in and it was inefficient from the start? And you think now..."

"Erwin are responsible..."

"You were perfectly able to speak normally just a few minutes ago," she interrupted sharply. "Do that now as well."

She could see how he swallowed around a lump or something in his throat but then nodded again. Slowly, but he nodded.

"I am responsible, Miss Lightfoot ma'am. Master Severus Sir should have just had that potion but I thought that he could simply take the one and never notice but it is my fault. And I let you and Little Miss Emma-Burgundy down when he was brewing it because I thought Master Severus Sir would see that he doesn't need the potion when he has you two," he said breathlessly.

"So I gather this potion is addictive?" she asked, grimacing.

"Yes, Miss Lightfoot ma'am. Very. And Master Severus Sir has taken it for too long and..."

"I see," she nodded, taking a deep breath. "So now he's clean?"

"We wash him every day, Headmistress Minerva ma'am and me," he nodded eagerly, a drop of blood running down his temple.

She rolled her eyes, both at his obvious misunderstanding and at the disgusting sight of blood and pulled the excitable little thing to the other side of the kitchen where she positioned him in front of her, one hand on his shoulder, as the other rummaged around for some plaster in a drawer. She smiled as she found it and stuck it on his forehead before he could protest.

"Erwin don't need plas..." he broke off, looking guilty. "I don't need plaster."

"We will have to discuss this weird habit of talking another time," she shook her head. "And the plaster is not for your benefit but for mine because I don't like seeing blood oozing out of your head."

"Miss Lightfoot ma'am is so good to me."

"Nonsense. I'm not good and will never be good, alright? Now, you say that Snape is really starving himself."

"Oh yes, ma'am. It's terrible. He's only a skeleton anymore. Nothing on his body and he always lays like this in his bed," he replied, putting himself on his side on the floor and pulling his knees up to his nose. "That's how he's in his bed. Didn't move at all. Much."

She frowned at the bit of Erwin-play-acting but let him be.

Why was it, she wondered, that those wizards, and their creatures, always said too many things to process at once?

But maybe...she arched her eyebrows. "If you stay here and you swear that you will not hurt Burgundy in any way, upon pain of death, because I will kill you if you hurt her, do you think I should run over there and talk to him?"

The elf stood up like a lightning bolt and grinned, bloody oozing from behind the plaster. "Yes please, Miss Lightfoot ma'am. Oh yes please!" he shouted and she was catapulted back when his little body crashed into hers in a hug.

"Alright," she took a deep breath. "I'll be back in half an hour tops."

xx


	26. Chapter 26

_**The usual disclaimers apply**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 24 (with Sleeping Beauty – though the Beauty-part needs to be discussed later)

xx

Okay, so she could almost freely admit to herself that she wasn't quite prepared for the sight. She hadn't really taken that McGonagall woman all that seriously when she had said that Severus was 'catatonic'. She had probably (not that she could remember now) only thought that he was sitting around, ranting and not doing much else. The Erwin-creature had definitely made more of an impression on her and even though she didn't know why, she had felt more prone to believe him than that old woman. Nevertheless, no, she wasn't prepared for that sight.

Not the boring bedroom which she had seen before, or the bed or anything else but the person in the bed. Person? Not so much a person as...a corpse. She had to look closely to see even his chest, hidden behind bony, skinny thighs, moving more or less regularly but his face...was a mask of...no, a waxen mask of...death. He was more than pallid, more than pale, more than sickly. Not a muscle could be seen moving. Not his eyelids, not his lips or his nose. If she hadn't seen his chest move the tiniest bit, she would have grabbed a mirror, as she had learned back when...whenever, and would have checked that way if he was still breathing.

There was absolutely nothing on this man. No bit of fat, the muscles possibly all but atrophied and he was quite likely suffering from cramp if he lay like that all the fucking time.

It was a pitiful sight and she was glad that the McGonagall woman had only waved her upstairs instead of going with her. But she had looked tired and she didn't want a tired hag to hear her gasp of shock. This wasn't right.

"Oi, Snape!" she cried because she couldn't stand the silence anymore and because it certainly wasn't natural to lie like this. "Get the fuck up!"

No reaction. And she was supposed to wake him? To get him up? Like hell.

"Snape, get the fuck up and get a grip on yourself. Yeah, so you're mad because Burgundy spat in your potion and I'm mad because you hit my child. Or almost hit it. But that's not fucking reason to stay like that here. I mean you'll just...you want to kill yourself," she gasped softly. "No way. That'll only bring the police here and imagine me telling the fucking coppers that you starved yourself because my child spat in your potion and because you reacted too fucking violently. No way. Snape!"

No reaction. Not a muscle. Not a twitch of anything.

Christine took a deep breath and pulled the chair that was standing at the wall closer to the bed and sat down. She couldn't remember the chair being there but if that McGonagall woman had stayed there as both Erwin and she had implied, well, she needed a place to sit.

She exhaled loudly. "Listen to me, Snape. I might not have yet forgiven you but I'm not a unforgiving person. And of course you'll have to understand that it might take a while before I let you alone with Burgundy again but I saw how you...tried to pull back. I saw the look on your face. Man, if you're more disgusted with yourself than I am with you..." she broke off, sighing. "I don't want to be responsible for you killing yourself but don't think that you can blackmail into forgiving you. Because you can't, even if you do kill yourself right here. You'll have to apologize and explain in your own words that you're sorry and that you didn't mean it. I know addiction, Snape. I've seen your father and my father and all fathers in this street. I know what it's like and I guess you know that your father...well, what he did when he was either in a stupor or when there wasn't enough money for a stupor. My fucking father was the fucking same but that doesn't mean we have to be. And addiction...Snape, really. What the hell are you thinking? Even if life is fucking bad, you can't just escape into drugs and booze and whatever. You know it's only gonna make it worse. You've lived in a house like that. You know...oh what the fuck am I saying? Get. The. Fuck. Up."

No twitch. No movement. She just sat there as well, watching that man who was curled up like a frightened little boy and who gave no indication that he had heard her. This was all too weird for her. All too...a flash of something crossed over her face and her eyebrows arched up to her forehead.

"Too surreal, eh? Too fucking fairy-tale to believe it, eh? I'll give you fairy-tale. Desperate times, desperate fucking measures. But don't complain that I didn't warn you, because this is the warning. You might not like it, but I doubt that this McGonagall hag has tried it. And I doubt Erwin, bless his soul, did."

Christine smirked and got up from her chair, bending over the bed. She used both her hands to slowly pull the legs down a bit, and Snape, oddly, let her. He wasn't fighting her in the least and her smirk evolved into a big grin. "Let's see then, Sleeping Beauty," she whispered and bent down further, took a deep breath and pressed her lips on his.

They weren't as cold as she had somehow expected. Chapped and dry and bloodless, possibly, but not cold. She kept her hands to herselt but began to move her lips ever so slightly against his, brushing them, pressing harder, slanting lighter. She could tell that one of his thighs twitched but otherwise, he made no movement, did nothing to push her off and as she shrugged to herself, she forced her tongue into his mouth.

Well. The taste was...Erwin had said he was clean but brushing teeth had probably not been on the agenda. Still, her tongue was in and she wanted to rouse him and it seemed like the best possibility to just kiss him. She nudged his tongue and there seemed to be...a fraction of a movement. A swipe of his against hers and it almost felt like he was kissing her back. For a second only, of course, but maybe he was just trying to shove her off or swallowing or whatever but there, there it was again. Not an immobile, impassive tongue.

She couldn't tell how long it lasted and it was one-sided really, most of the time but after a few seconds or half a minute or so, she felt herself pushed back rather forcefully by her shoulders and as she opened her eyes (when had she closed them anyway?), she saw him looking at her with wild, odd eyes.

"What the..." he said very raspily.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Well, we can discuss the Beauty part later but for the time being, welcome back in the Land of the Living."

"Get out!" he hissed and even that came out rather...raspy.

"No, if I do, you'll go back to your whatever-it-was and before I kiss you again, if I will ever, kiss you again, you'll have to brush your teeth or at least suck on a sweet or get a chewing gum or something," she smirked.

"Leave."

"Little ray of Sunshine," she sighed. "Did you hear what I said at all? Do you know how fucking long you've been there?" she sat down at the edge of the bed, glaring at him. "Do you know that this hag, erm, McGonagall is worried about you? And that your Erwin came to my house and banged his head open in my kitchen? All because Snape has to have a fucking nervous breakdown. Tell you what, no on. No more fucking nervous breakdown. Apologize to me and to your daughter and get out of this bed. It's pathetic."

He lay still, on his back now, his legs stretched out and his eyes firmly on the ceiling.

"I have a son, you know that, right? And you're behaving like him when he was at his worst in puberty. You're a fucking pubescent boy, Snape. Yes, Burgundy destroyed your...drug-thing and I am very sorry about it and I'm sure if she understood, she would be just as sorry. But she didn't and she doesn't understand. She's a baby, Snape. Babies drool and spit and don't know what's appropriate. But I apologize, okay? Now do me the courtesy of doing the same and I know you're just as bad at it as I am."

"Why should I?"

"Apologize? Because you owe it to me and to my daughter. You almost slapped her. She's a baby. If you'd slapped me, alright, I'd have hit you back or kicked your balls or whatever, but she is fucking innocent. She didn't know you were an addict just as I didn't know. She didn't know what you were making down there just as I didn't know. If I had known, I wouldn't have brought her down but your Erwin told us to go there and from your and my daughter's reaction, I thought we were not that unwelcome."

He said nothing.

"Dear God, Snape, You made a mistake. Just apologize."

"I've made more than one mistake," he whispered and Christine frowned, looking at him. His eyes were screwed shut and if his forehead hadn't been in a billion little wrinkles, she would have said that he was close to falling into his catatonic state again.

"We all do," she replied, gentler and kinder than before.

"No," he replied and rolled on his side away from her.

"Oh no, you don't. You'll get up and eat and drink and brush your teeth," she argued immediately and with both her hands on his side, she pulled him back on his back. He really wasn't that heavy.

"No," he replied.

"Listen, you teenage boy. I'll count to three and then I will help you up," she said sternly. "You're depressed, I get that. You're possibly still having withdrawal symptoms. But I don't care. I have been begged by a rather, I suppose, proud witch and a strange creature that I didn't even know existed until a few weeks ago, to get you up and to help them. I haven't often been asked to help someone but when I am, I do. And I never want to see Erwin bang his head open in my kitchen and bleed so much that one fucking plaster isn't even enough. Is that clear?"

He stared at her with wide eyes, huge eyes that could have really belonged to a teenage boy but after a moment, he shook his head.

"Okay, counting. I suppose you'll have to lean on me anyway because I can't imagine you not being crampy from that position you were in. Are you a yogi or summat? No normal person our age can lie like this for more than thirty seconds," she shrugged when he made no move to get up. "One."

No movement.

"Two."

Nothing. He obviously wasn't taking her seriously. Oh but he better. She had brought her father to bed more than once when he's been out cold. And of the various men she had had in her life, well, some had been the same as her father. She was used to getting grown men in and out of bed.

"Three," she said with an air of finality and shoved her hands underneath his shoulders and with all the strength she possessed (though she shouldn't have bothered, he was too light), she pulled him up into a sitting position. "Loo?" she asked with a smirk and he grimaced, probably feeling ants crawling all over him from having the blood flow freely again.

"Get away from my person," he hissed and his voice sounded a tiny bit better.

"If you get up, I will," she replied smirking and took the poor man in. She knew if she took one moment to think about what she was doing, she would have run home crying. Or would have never stopped pitying him or hating him, or whatever. But such as it was, she refused to think about the entire stupid situation and focused on getting him up.

"I can do it on my own," he replied coldly and slowly pushed his legs towards the edge of the bed. She watched as he struggled to get his muscles to work again but didn't, for the time being, lend a hand. He wanted to do it alone, he should have a chance to do it alone.

xx

There was no difference between sleeping and waking anymore. He couldn't tell if the things he saw in his head from time to time were hallucinations or dreams or a blend of both. From time to time, he didn't remember how he had come to be in this place and how he had come to lie there in his bed until all the memories hit him full forth and he curled back tighter in himself. From time to time, he wouldn't even remember where he was and who that was speaking to him and his tongue stuck the the roof of his mouth and he wanted to shout for something to drink until he remember bits of his miserable life and decided it was best to just keep quiet and say nothing.

There were voices, female voices and a high pitched squeaky one.

Time had no meaning. What had been before was after and what he was sure should be after was before or just now. He didn't care, he didn't want to know.

He was in the middle of a dream, or hallucination or reality when Christine spoke to him. Spoke to him how simple it was to gain forgiveness. All you had to say, according to Christine, who sat there in decent clothes and her hair in a respectable, one-coloured up-do, was to say you were sorry and that you had to feel sorry and that you had to say you didn't mean to do it. And then she waffled on about unimportant things but he wasn't listening because he watched her and the prettiness of her cheekbones and how well that shirt suited her. How long her neck was when she pinned her hair up and how pretty she could hold herself in those high heels that showed off pretty little feet.

And suddenly, in the dream, because why would it be a hallucination if she didn't turn into the Dark Lord and as him, ate Severus, she bent forward and smiled and said "Desperate times, desperate fucking measures. But don't complain that I didn't warn you, because this is the warning. You might not like it, but I doubt that this McGonagall hag has tried it. And I doubt Erwin, bless his soul, did," but Erwin hadn't been in the dream and Minerva certainly hadn't either. Still, as she said it, she came closer and her lips were suddenly on his. And his on hers and when she teased his mouth and persuades his lips to part, he had to react because she dared to kiss him and because she had wanted to kiss him even though he might not like it (did she know him at all? He liked kissing her in his dream or his hallucination as long as she didn't turn into the Dark Lord and ate him). And he did react. He kissed her back and his tongue tangled in hers and the dream or hallucination suddenly was no dream or hallucination anymore but...

She was kissing him.

Christine Lightfoot was kissing him when he had slapped her child. She was there, or maybe that was another hallucination, and he was slipping from one to another. One where he had been decently dressed, sitting somewhere he wasn't sure where and one where she was wearing pretty clothing with pretty shoes and looked generally rather beautiful into another one where he was lazing in bed in a crispy white nightshirt and she bent over him in a short skirt and a jumper which was three sizes too big for her and boring sandals on her feet. Her hair was still the colour he had made on her head though and she had pulled it up carelessly into a boring ponytail and it just wasn't right to kiss a woman when she was fully clothed and he was a nightshirt. Besides, he had slapped her child. She was punishing him with a kiss for slapping her child. She was still angry and wanted him to know that she could, would, only kiss him to show that she could and...his own line of thought made him feel rather dizzy.

She spoke and he understood her, plainly and clearly. Those weren't the soft gentle tones she had used in the dream or hallucination she had before. This was different. Colder, more mocking and yet, concerned, wasn't it? She was...She was commanding him to do things and he didn't take well to being pushed around. Not anymore.

And now she was even making him sit up. He didn't want to sit up, it made him dizzy.

This was no dream. This was no hallucination anymore. It slowly dawned on him that he was now back in the real world. Nothing there to hide the ugly truth from himself. Just the ugly truth itself. He had done unspeakable, disgusting things in his life and had topped it all off by slapping an innocent child. Despicable person that he was.

His entire body tingled when he sat upright, his legs stretched out in front of him. How long had he truly been in bed? More than two or three days couldn't possibly be but everything ached and hurt and his stomach growled loudly. There were ants crawling in his veins instead of blood and he wanted to get up to work out that cramp in his thigh but he couldn't. His head needed to adjust to the new position.

But she, oh, Lightfoot wanted to help him out of bed as if he were an invalid. He had only spent a few days in bed. Two or three tops, nothing more, nothing less. And with every right. He had slapped a child or at least, hadn't pulled back in time.

His potion was gone.

The thought filled him with a lot less dread than it had when he had first lay down. It was gone but he could still leave without it. It would take longer and he would have to rely on Erwin to take him and go with him but he could still...

No. He didn't want to go. Not because of Christine and the fact that she had kissed him or the fact that snippets of conversations and moments were coming back to him but because this was England and he was no coward. Greenland was running away. Sticking it out here, taking what they dished out for him, that was what he did. He wasn't about to run away like a common little criminal. Not him. Not Severus Snape. He had almost hit a child, yes, but he had never been a coward – and he certainly wouldn't start being one now. He would apologize to Emma even though he doubted she understood or wanted to see him and he didn't really want to see her recoiling from his touch and to stop from calling him Snep but that was what he was used to. What was one more rejection? He had no plan what to do in his life but he would find out and he would maybe develop medicinal potions to help elder wizards with their suffering from rheumatism and whatever it was that elder wizards and witches suffered from. He was not about to run away. He couldn't. He wasn't a coward and he could even take Emma hating him if he had to. She wouldn't be the first in any case.

She made another move to help him get up and somewhere inside of him, he found the strength to snarle.

"Get away from my person."

"If you get up, I will," she smirked at him, actually smirked and he worked harder to ignore the ants crawling through his bloodstream and the dizzying feeling in his head.

"I can do it on my own," he replied with as much coldness as his disused voice would allow and forced his legs towards the edge of the bed. He hadn't thought that muscles could just dwindle like that in three or four days. Or two or three days. How long had it been anyhow? He would ask Erwin. Erwin was forced to give him a truthful answer.

His bare feet hit the cold floor and he shivered. She just stood by and watched and yes, her hands were at the ready, he could see. It was a bit strange to have a nurse like this but as long as she made no move to touch him, he wasn't about to say something.

She had kissed him.

Why had she kissed him. There was something she had said, right after he had realised that it wasn't a dream...

Sleeping Beauty.

"What did you mean with Sleeping Beauty?" he asked, scowling. Actually, he was scowling because he couldn't dare to put his own weight on his trembling legs but if he scowled at her, she could at least be forced back a few paces.

"Sleeping Beauty. You know, fairy-tale."

"Muggle?" he scowled further.

"OF course Muggle. What else?" she frowned.

"I don't..." he knew his voice sounded strained and he was about to give up and try not to get up when she spoke.

"Fairy tale. You know, pretty princess, being hated by a witch, being rescued by a night in shining armour who kissed her and wakes her from a hundred-years' sleep," she shrugged. "Roles seemed to be the other way round here and the witch didn't actually do anything to put you to sleep, I think, as she's still sitting downstairs and sleeping herself but...yeah, you know. Even Burgundy knows the story," she chided, rolling her eyes.

He scowled a little more and with a deep breath, he wanted to force all of his weight on his legs (had he ever thought so much about getting up?) when there was a knock on the door and before he could say anything, it burst open and said witch, Minerva, stood there, her glasses askew and her hair rather...untidy.

"Oh my stars," she breathed. "You did it, Miss Lightfoot. You got him up!"

Christine turned to her and smirked. "Piece of cake if you know a bit of Mugg...Muggle magic."

xx


	27. Chapter 27

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 25 (with a quarrel, introspection, and Snep)

xx

She had honestly done it. Minerva hadn't thought she could when she had been raised from her catnap on the couch by the woman banging on the door. She had seriously thought that she, much as she herself, and Erwin, would sooner or later admit defeat and would maybe, depending on her, either sit vigil at his bed, or leave and never come back. But she had done something which...had roused him.

Muggle Magic.

Minerva McGonagall wasn't entirely stupid. Actually, she wasn't stupid at all. She had dealt more than three quarters of her life with stupid people and that had made her aware of when they were – evasive. And this woman was. And Minerva McGonagall remembered enough of Nanna Anna to understand a few bits of Muggleisms.

She eyed her shrewdly, ignoring the struggling and scowling Severus for a moment and arched her eyebrows.

"What kind of Muggle Magic?" she asked, trying hard to dredge up all that was left of every other weekend before she had turned eleven. Every other weekend that she had spent with Nanna Anna somewhere in a cottage in Scotland, being with the lovely, loving, kind, wonderful Muggle woman. Her Nanna Anna.

"Y0u wouldn't understand," said the woman, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Try me," she retorted immediately, matching her mischievous eyes with steely ones.

"Sleeping Beauty," she said, sharply.

Minerva didn't have to think long. Nanna Anna had, despite the war and the loss of her husband and the other war and the bombs which had never even hit close to her home, kept a worn, dog-eared copy of Grimm's at home. She frowned at the woman.

"You kissed him?" she asked, full of surprise.

"How do you know?"

"Did you stab him with a thorn of the rose? Or did you lock him in a tower? Is he a princess?" she asked, outraged. "Give me some credit, woman. I might be a witch but that doesn't mean that I'm stupid or not well-read. Even in Muggle literature."

"I kissed him," she replied frankly. "And he woke up. Maybe you should have tried it."

"Maybe I'm not his knight in shining armour," Minerva blurted. Damn Gryffindor inside of her. After such a long time, she should have learned to control it and she knew, the moment the words left her mouth, that she had said the wrong thing.

"If you think I am, you're fucking mistaken, you hag," Miss Lightfoot pronounced her f-word rather clearly.

"He was my student! I remember when he walked around with ink-stained fingers and lips and had ink-splotches all over his forehead and cheeks. I remember when he felt sorry, but wouldn't say, about the creatures he had to transfigure. I remember when he was eleven! Do you think I would kiss him the way you have probably done?"

"If you're insinuating that I'm a slag, you can fucking think again!"

"I'm not insinuating anything."

"Looks like you were."

"No."

"Yes."

"No, and stop arguing about that. I was only saying that it wouldn't be appropriate for me to kiss him. Even if I had wanted to kiss him, which, trust me, I do not. And least of all in the manner that you kissed him."

"There you go again," it was funny to see how Miss Lightfoot's cheeks reddened and her eyes grew alive. It wasn't often that Minerva found someone to argue like this with – and to be honest, she rather enjoyed it and had, almost, bow to Miss Lightfoot for giving as good as she got, if not better.

"I am not saying anything but I would never dream of kissing Severus on the lips or the mouth and I bet you..."

"I did, I did. Do you want to hear that I shoved my fucking tongue down his fucking throat? He woke up, that's what you wanted, right? He's...where is he?" she asked, looking around. A minute ago, he had been struggling to get up, putting not too much weight on the knee that obviously still hurt. Not a minute ago, he had been there.

"You..." Minerva said threateningly (even though she knew she was just as much to blame) before she darted out of the room and wanted to run down the stairs to go check on him when she saw him, standing rather wobbly on the first step, a hand on the rail, the other pressed against the wall. She rushed to him and put a hand carefully on his shoulder.

"I would have kissed you if I'd known..."

"Please," he said, his voice sounding rather strained. "This is too embarr...leave me be."

"I'll help you down the stairs then," she replied, understanding that he was too embarrassed. Too embarrassed for words. This proud man had been kissed awake by a Muggle woman, or had been drawn out of his depression by a Muggle woman (and a vulgar one at that) and now he was struggling to get down the stairs, unable, it seemed, to do it alone.

"Leave me be," he repeated but it almost lacked conviction and she kept his hand steadily on his shoulder and would have left it there if it hadn't been for the stupid, stupid woman who pushed her aside.

"Shove off, I can deal with that," she said, gruffly.

"What..." Minerva gasped and was pushed against the wall as the vulgar woman slipped underneath Severus's arm so it rested on her own shoulder.

"I don't really fancy calling an ambulance," she told him sternly. "Now walk."

Minerva McGonagall had to admit that she was rather impressed. That forthright manner, the briskness, the absolute ploughing in from nowhere and the harshness of her tone made Severus do as she said – and would have earned her an honorary place in the Noble House of Godric Gryffindor.

She followed dumbly. She should have been the one to have done that. She was elder, allegedly wiser, allegedly better in touch with people, had experienced with students and with grown-ups but she hadn't. She had thought that she knew Severus better than this woman but obviously – she didn't. She frowned and something inside of her, something she didn't want to acknowledge, hurt. It hurt that this woman could just push in and could just command him to do...she commanded him. Was that really what he wanted? After so long, she had thought he was sick of being pushed around, of having to listen to other people. But now...maybe he was so used to it that he just reacted. Or just very weak. She couldn't let this woman trample all over him but at the moment, he seemed to respond well to that. No matter. She would stay there. She would stay and she would make sure he got back on his feet again and the thing that had made him happiest, the thing that would make him happiest was...

She followed them mutely down the stairs, watched how she, efficiently, put him on a kitchen chair and bustled around making tea while he stayed quiet all the time. It wasn't like him and yet, who knew what he had done in the last two weeks. Had he been awake or not, had he merely given up on himself and needed to adjust to being awake and amongst the living again. Nanna Anna was no help with that.

Still, she could, she had to really, do one thing and so she moved as quickly as she could to the woman and stood close enough that Severus wouldn't hear her.

"He needs food and as I understood, you made Erwin watch your daughter?" she asked.

"Yes," she replied. "But I'm sure you can make some eggs."

"That's not what I mean," she whispered, glancing at Severus who seemed utterly lost in thought but at least his eyes were open, scanning the room, looking at them, trying to figure out what they were talking about.

"What then?" she whispered as well.

"I believe your daughter does not resent Severus. Is that correct?"

"You think I'll let her..."

"Under strict supervision, yes," she nodded quickly.

"I..." she seemed, for the first time, lost for her words and it seemed her stern mask was falling from her face.

"He's too weak in any case," Minerva argued quickly.

Her visage changed. Her eyes darted to him and then back to the kettle. Her nostrils seemed a little wider than usual and her lips slightly parted. Her eyebrows were arched and her arms crossed over her chest. If Minerva had to make a guess, she would have said that Miss Lightfoot seemed utterly scared.

"But..."

"I will be here, you will be here and Erwin will be here. Even though I doubt that he could honestly harm anyone in his state," she whispered urgently. "He's as weak as a kitten. And you know, as well as I do, that him wanting, or not wanting, to harm your child has led to this situation. He will not do it again."

She was obviously rather torn and Minerva went in for the kill.

"He needs decent food and I cannot prepare it for him. Erwin was the one who sustained him and your daughter was the only one he could show a modicum of affection to before all this nasty business. He needs your daughter."

She shook her head. "He tried to..."

"Tried to, yes. Look Miss Lightfoot. I know you and I don't see eye to eye and we possibly never shall but we have seen your memories together and I know that you have seen his face. I know that his face shocked you just as much as it shocked me. He did not mean to hit your daughter and I believe Erwin has informed you that..."

"He's an addict, yes. But that doesn't give him the right to..." she had begun to speak louder but stopped herself and continued in a whisper, "try and hit my daughter."

Minerva sighed. "You know he didn't want to."

"He still did."

Minerva nodded. "Yes. But he should have the chance to see that Burgundy is forgiving. And that you're forgiving."

She was eyed suspiciously before Miss Lightfoot drew a deep breath. "I will fetch them. But as soon as this is over, as soon as he's okay again, I want a full explanation from you why you care so much."

"That you will get," Minerva sighed. "I give you my oath."

xx

She took a deep breath and looked behind her. The Erwin-creature was, oddly enough, invisible. She couldn't see him but she could feel his hand clutching the back of her shirt tightly. Burgundy was possibly sensing, or knowing, where they were going and she was, compared to the last week or so, absolutely giddy. Smiling, gurgling, talking nonsense words to herself. Her drooling had somewhat lessened but not stopped entirely. It wouldn't stop before she had her teeth.

She felt on edge, to be honest, but, some part of her brain trusted McGonagall. She didn't know why, or how, but she did. She trusted her enough, at least, to bring her daughter there and to trust her to keep Burgundy save. Not that she would let her child out of her sight for a second. Not even for the bathroom or anything.

She could still feel Erwin clutching her shirt as she knocked on the door but he let go a second later when the door was flung open by McGonagall and he stepped in and appeared. Just as ugly as before, just as ear-twitching and just as smiling.

"I'm glad you came back," McGonagall said with almost a warm smile and almost as if she had to force herself, she raised a hand and put it on Burgundy's back. "Erwin, will you make sure Severus gets a nutritional meal? Soup perhaps to start with?" she asked Erwin and Christine was curious about her. She appeared so calm now and so in command of the situation. Whatever she felt towards the woman – and it was rather a lot (annoyance, annoyance, anger, anger) – she absolutely seemed to understand what had to be done in this situation and Christine did feel rather dreadful for not listening to her sooner about coming over. Well, if truth be told, she would be feeling dreadful if she paused to think about it, which, at the moment, she couldn't. It was all about fear at the moment. She didn't want to leave Burgundy with Severus. She was afraid but she also knew, deep down, that he wouldn't hurt her. She knew he wouldn't hurt her but she was afraid nevertheless. And, unbidden, his lips came back to her. Chapped but warm. Pliant against her own. Soft. Gentle. And if it hadn't been for the taste? He would have kissed quite – heavenly. Would be quite interesting to see how he kissed if his teeth were – brushed.

But. No. She couldn't think about that now. She had keep a tight hold on her daughter who seemed to realise that she was in 'Snep's's house. She kept repeating 'Snep' over and over again, whispering.

She couldn't deny her daughter to see Severus. She wanted to, she longed to. And who was she to...deny her?

She looked at McGonagall for a moment, met her eyes and wished she could understand what was behind the woman's eyes when she took another deep breath and walked straight into the kitchen. She couldn't put it off any longer. She had waited to long to come over and he would possibly be less skeletal if she had come over a week ago. No, she couldn't think about that now either. Not about the kiss and his warm lips and not about the guilt that was silently gnawing at her stomach. Not now. Now she had to see this. She rounded the corner and her child immediately caught sight of Severus.

It was odd. She screamed. Happily. She squeaked and she shouted. And all she could hear was 'Snep'. Over and over again. "Snep!" she shouted, she gurgled, she screamed, she cried happily and she couldn't hold her in her arms any longer. She wriggled and kicked and had to be led on the floor and she crawled, as quickly as only children could, and as only Burgundy could, to Snape.

Odd.

xx

He knew he was up. He knew he had been in bed for longer than he thought as well because Minerva had felt the need to inform him. He couldn't quite believe that it was two weeks but, if she said she, she would be right.

She had left him mid-sentence. She had just stood up with the cup of tea in front of him and had left. Didn't know why and he didn't understand. He just sat and felt a bit odd. His knee hurt and his head hurt. His hair felt even more stringy than usual and his teeth...

She had kissed him. She had just kissed him and it had been no dream, no hallucination. It hadn't been a dream and he had kissed back. He slumped back in his chair.

He wouldn't think about the question when he had last been kissed but at least now he knew that it was not something you could un-learn, even if he hadn't done it in ages. Still, it wasn't anything he could think about it now. His head hurt. His knee hurt and he had odd cramps in his stomach and thighs.

He was pulled out of his thoughts from a piercing, high-pitched scream. He turned his head slowly, quicker wasn't possible, and stared into the wide, murky brown eyes of a young girl, a baby, clutching his legs. Not his trouser leg, but his bare leg since he was still wearing nothing but a nightshirt.

The child had come? Had come back? Was pulling painfully at the hair on his leg? Emma had come back?

"Emma," he breathed very quietly and the girl was grinning from ear to ear.

"Snep!" she replied with that high-pitched scream and raised her little arms.

She wanted to be picked up. By him. The evil monster. She was smiling at him, him. The evil Snape. The one who had hit her? She was smiling at him? Wanted to be picked up by him?

"Snep!" she said and her voice sounded dreadfully commanding. "Up!"

He shook his head. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. But as soon as he arched his back, bent down, she had scrambled into his arms and he had, on instinct?, picked her up. Within a split second she was in his arms, snuggled to his chest and her little chin and nose and face was pressed into his neck and her soft hair was tickling his scar.

He didn't know what to do, was dumbstruck and amazed and puzzled and confused and all he could do was hold that little body to him and press his nose into her soft hair.

xx


	28. Chapter 28

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 26 (with forgiveness, annoyance and a promise)

xx

She smelled like spring and butterflies and apples. Rosy red apples. Her hair was tickling his nose and her tiny hands grasped his nightshirt and her legs were wound tightly around his stomach. She smelled the way he remembered she had smelled before and her hair was just as soft as he remembered it being soft. She was tiny and soft and warm and – drooling.

She had drooled in his potion. She had destroyed it. She had destroyed all his plans of going abroad, of leaving, of having the strength to fight one. She was the one who had made sure that he was in front of three women and a house elf in his nightshirt only. But she was also warm and gentle and her hands were holding on very tightly to his nightshirt. Her little chubby baby-hands and her little baby-head.

He realised that he would have never felt her like this again if he had finished the potion. If he had taken off, if he had emigrated to Greenland. If he had just gone away. And she had, obviously and strangely and utterly oddly, missed him. She clung to him, for heaven's sake! She whispered 'Snep' into his neck and drooled and pressed, if he wasn't mistaken, kisses on his scar.

He knew that both Christine and Minerva were watching. He knew that at least one of those two women was staring in shock but he also knew that, in that moment, he didn't truly care.

For the first time in his life, Severus was experiencing forgiveness. Wordless and childish forgiveness but forgiveness nevertheless. Emma was forgiving him even though he had breached the ultimate barrier and had almost, or truly, slapped her. Emma was forgiving him. Emma was clinging to him and – hugging – him and he was forgiven. She didn't hold a grudge, she didn't imply that she would never forget, she only hugged and kissed and clung. Nothing more.

He had to close his eyes as he held her. The emotional rollercoaster ride inside of him made him feel rather queasy and uncomfortable and that added to the warmth that the realisation that Emma had forgiven him, made the most dreadful feeling.

Even though – it made him feel. It let him feel. This was real. This was painful and wonderful at the same time. Knowing he had made a mistake but knowing, at the same time, that he was forgiven. At least by the one person. He began to understand that baby-magic Erwin had been talking about. He began to see what the elf had meant and what it was that Emma was giving him. What he got from Emma without asking, without begging, without having to camp outside her door and without having to walk on bended knee and in a hairshirt for weeks. No, Emma had, on her own, just seen him and had just...she was just Emma. The beautiful little girl with the murky brown eyes who hugged him.

xx

"Do you believe that he won't hurt her again now?" McGonagall hissed over to her, putting her hand on Christine's arm.

"But..." she had to admit it, she didn't understand. The last time, Severus and Burgundy had been together had ended in disaster. In almost tears and in two weeks in bed. This was like nothing had ever happened and she couldn't quite grasp it yet.

McGonagall sighed. "They love one another, don't you agree, Miss Lightfoot?"

She shrugged. Of course but Burgundy was a girl, a baby, a toddler. She loved...well, not that many people, but she loved easier. And she didn't know about life like Christine did. People let you down, people insulted you, people never kept their promises and people, in the end, always hurt you. Severus had been the same. The perfect babysitter, loving Burgundy and then, bam!, slapping her. Or making it look like he had slapped her. He had fully fit into her scheme. Nice first, evil later. McGonagall had, at times, fit into that as well. Nice and bitchy, nice and bitchy, but only ever nice if she wanted something and bitchy if she had what she wanted. That was the way people worked. At least around there. At least the people she had met.

Those two? Maybe...maybe she was wrong with her assessment. Maybe she shouldn't have judged too quickly. Maybe she shouldn't get so angry if it looked like Minerva called her a slag. But too many people had called her a slag – and she wasn't one. Definitely not. Two children from two men did not a slag make. Still. She eyed the scene curiously and was again hit by the thought how much Severus actually looked like a father when he cuddled with the girl. He held her and he had his eyes closed as he sniffed her hair. Gently and kindly and almost the way his kiss had felt. Only better tasting.

She frowned to herself. This wasn't the way her thoughts should go. It was Snape after all. And the kiss had been means to an end, nothing more, and nothing less. She had to wake him up and...oh who was she kidding? If not for the fucking incident with the fucking slapping, he would have looked more and more attractive to her, especially with the way he handled Burgundy. She would have been quite able to oversee his re-naming, and by this time, if not for the slap, she would, possibly, have wanted to kiss him. If he had continued to treat Burgundy the way he was treating her now, quietly whispering something in her ear, was he? Being so bloody tender to her girl. Loving her, that much was obvious. And anyone who loved her daughter was a good candidate for loving her as well.

No, she couldn't possibly think that way. It was wrong.

He had slapped the child.

But, if not for the taste, he would have kissed terribly well. A mite timid perhaps but being woken up was not the time to display overwhelming passion in any case. No, a good morning kiss (and for lack of a better word, she called it that), was supposed to be tender and gentle and slow.

"Oh fuck," she mumbled very quietly to herself. This would never do. She couldn't just stare at this man and begin to bloody fantasise about him either.

But he would make a good father for any children. If he could stop slapping them (and in that moment, she didn't doubt McGonagall's words. He wouldn't hit Burgundy ever again).

McGonagall was quite suddenly next to her and a hand was, again, put on her arm. "Do you think I could leave for an hour?" she asked softly, her eyes trained on Severus and her child. "I could stay but I long to take a decent shower and change my clothes instead of just scourgifying them. I should see if Hogwarts is still standing as well," she trailed off, obviously uncomfortable to talk about that place.

She sighed. Of course she could be left alone. She had always managed on her own. Now she worried about her? Now McGonagall wanted to make sure she was alright? She swallowed her rising anger for the time being. After all, she had promised to explain this entire matter. And now, she wouldn't. Well, she would, one day. Christine would make her. And if she had to go to this mysterious Hogwarts herself. Wherever that was.

She only nodded, her eyes briefly flickering to the old woman before they returned to Severus and her child. Was that...

"He smiled," McGonagall gasped before she could utter the same words of surprise. Severus had smiled at her daughter and Burgundy was grinning back broadly. She hadn't really seen him smile yet and it...shite, yes, it warmed her heart. And the rest of her insides. And, well, other parts of her body. Best not to dwell on that. Not now. Not like this. Not this bloke. He had hit her child. She had to remember that.

"I saw," she said automatically.

"I will take my leave then. I should be back soon and if you could see that he eats?"

xx

Letting out a string of very blush-inducing expletives, Minerva threw the scrolls of parchment into the fire. She would not be dictated to. Not by the Board of Governors, not by the Ministry and not by the Minister himself. So she hadn't found anyone for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. So what? She wouldn't take a Ministry-stooge, and if necessary, she would teach it herself, leaving Transfiguration in the capable hands of Magnus Uri. She would not be told who to hire at the school. If she couldn't get Severus back, she would teach. And if she could get him back and he decided to teach Potions instead, Horace could get back to his retirement and she would find someone else.

But quite honestly, the way that he had held the child had made her wonder. There was no doubt that he loved her – why, she didn't know. And the child definitely loved him. And that made her angry as well, but a different sort of anger from the one that she felt when she thought about the idiots at the Ministry, wanting to make sure they got someone in to keep an eye on her, different from the anger she felt at the Minister himself who wanted her to bring Severus in for questioning and for witnessing, different from the anger she felt at the Board of Stupid Governors who wanted her make some truly unnecessary decisions (no, at the moment deciding whether they were to rebuilt three instead of the two destroyed greenhouses was not very high on her list of priorities). And then seeing Severus so...emotional with the little girl was disturbing.

Yes, that was the right word: emotional. He had definitely been close to tears, his eyes a little shiny when the girl had thrown herself into his arms. He had to blink rapidly and had then closed his eyes. Not once in her life, apart from maybe Severus's first two years had Hogwarts, had she been able to read him so well, had he been more open. It was clear to her that he had felt extraordinarily surprised at the girl's reaction and that her obvious forgiveness wasn't something he had expected and had not...not even from her...received. Maybe especially not from her.

Minerva rubbed her hands over her face, tired, worn out. She had made so many mistakes concerning him and with him, obviously finding a new family, she would never gain his forgiveness and she would possibly never have the chance to explain to him that she had forgiven him a long time ago.

She sat down on her chair and put her face in her hands, unsure whether she should return to Spinner's End at all.

xx

That stupid elf was...interrupting him. That stupid woman was interrupting him. Not that he was doing anything of great importance. He was just...memorising every tiny detail of the girl babbling to him. Not that he understood anything other than 'Snep' but she seemed very keen to explain something to him. What, he didn't know but it was...most interesting.

Oh to hell with it. He might as well admit it to himself, he thought. He regretted what he had done. He had missed the girl, even if he had been out of it for most of the time. He regretted hitting, or almost hitting, her. He had never wanted to do this and how, he wondered, had he ever thought of hitting her? Of hurting her?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the girl's scent, listened intently to her incessant babbling, to her telling him a story, or maybe just telling him what she had done in the two weeks he had slept, or what she had for tea. He didn't know and he didn't care. But he would make it up to her. He would make it up to her that he had hurt her, or that he had even thought of hurting her. He would make it up to her, and to her mother, if Christine let him. He would babysit for her if she let him. He would make sure she could get to the best schools, got the best meals, the best...everything, if Christine let him.

Emma babbled on and he risked a glance at her mother, who had interrupted him, with Erwin, by talking to him, something about food and soup and tea. He didn't care at the moment but when he looked up at her, she smiled a strangely mysterious smile.

"Soup, Snape," she said surprisingly gently and raised her hands as if she wanted to take her daughter back but...no. Emma was safe with him. He wouldn't hurt her again. Not even with spilled hot soup. He would make sure she was safe, didn't have to let her go, did he?

He tried not to show this. He tried not to let Erwin and Christine now how he was affected by that stupid baby-magic, that it was finally working on him. He didn't want to admit that the elf had been right, and he still hadn't figured out what exactly it was but hearing Emma babble, watching how she played with his buttons with her little chubby hands and fingers and how she smiled at him with her bright teeth, was very soothing, and very calming for his nerves and it even felt like the ache in his knee lessened.

"Eat, please, Master Severus Sir," the elf implored, staring at him with big, violet eyes and pointed at the soup plate filled with hot, steaming, fragrant, thick soup and his stomach seemed to react violently. It clenched and made disgusting noises and seemed unable to decide whether it wanted food or wanted to get rid of it again.

Emma smiled at him and grabbed the spoon off the table with another few incomprehensible words or only sounds and a bit uncoordinated, handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said to her, his voice sounding rather hoarse.

The girl grinned broadly at him and opened her mouth wide, as if she expected him to feed her. To feed her.

Christine, oddly enough, laughed out loud and he looked at her, surprised by the sound, and puzzled by it.

"She wants a bit of your soup. I think it's better if you let me take her," she said. "Otherwise you'll never get anything."

He scowled at the woman. This girl wanted to be fed by him. Would take food that was meant for him, and even if she was too young to understand the concept of poisoning, she probably understood things tasting bad.

"And I need one of two explanations," she shrugged. "Because I honestly don't understand, even if my daughter seems to."

"Miss Lightfoot ma'am..." Erwin said but she shook her head at him, puzzling him further.

"Could you leave us alone for a moment?" she said instead and stepped to him, snatching, suddenly, the girl out of his arms as the elf, without questions and without wails and without anything scurried out of the room.

She scowled back at him and sat down opposite him, Emma on her lap who grinned at him and had her mouth still wide open.

"I don't think you..."

"Snape, eat the fucking soup. You're stomach is screaming for it," she said boredly. "And while you eat, you can tell me, or just think about those entire last two weeks. Burgundy is obviously very happy to see her and...it shouldn't be that way if you truly hit her. Well, I know that you didn't, or that you tried to pull back at the last possible moment but I want to know..." she exhaled loudly and he gave in to his body's lesser instinct and spooned the soup almost greedily. It was up to Erwin's usual standards. Nutritious, pieces of chicken and vegetable swimming in it and he swallowed them almost unchewed.

"You'll make yourself sick if you eat that way," she chided. He hadn't been chided for eating so quickly in over thirty years and he glowered at her.

"What do you want?"

"I want to know why you decided to kill yourself by starving yourself," she said bluntly. "You said you made many mistakes and for heaven's sake, I don't want you listing all of them but nobody just lays down to kill himself the disgusting and painful way. What the hell can be so dreadful that you just wanted to end it all because you almost hit my child and because I thought you did? Eh?"

The piece of chicken almost stuck in his throat and he had a hard time getting it into his stomach. He didn't want to tell her. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to be hugged by the girl again. Wanted to forget the rest.

"I killed," he said instead in between mouthfuls of soup and, naturally, after a rather long pause.

"We've established that," she rolled her eyes. "But that wasn't why you wanted to starve yourself."

He looked at her for real this time. He put down his spoon and kept his eyes trained on her, not on Emma, on Christine. Maybe it was his two weeks of sleep, maybe it was the fact that she had gone so far to kiss him to wake him up and that he had kissed her back, or maybe just...nothing special but she seemed different that day. She seemed a lot less hostile, a lot less suspicious and a lot gentler. Kinder. Less hard. Warmer. And, in addition to all that, she seemed to have employed her brain. And had made deductions, had thought about him and that was...why would she think about him? Apart from the fact that he had hit her child and that he had decided to just lay down to die. Why would she wonder why he had tried to do that and not just the fact that he had done it.

She looked the same she had that day he had seen her last. Her hair was still the colour he had made her have and she wore her usual clothes. No make up.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked instead, trying to tip her off balance, trying to get her not to ask those questions. Questions he didn't want to answer.

"To wake you up," she replied with a smirk. "If you think you can distract me, you'd have to try harder. Why?"

"I don't have to answer you," he replied threateningly.

"I think you do," she said, the coldness returning to her eyes. "You want to see Burgundy again. And Burgundy obviously wants to see you. Now tell me that you did it because you needed to recover from your fucking addiction and that you're clean now or I'll take my daughter and you'll never see us again. I'd hate to..."

"What addiction?" he asked, arching his eyebrows, trying to hide his shock. Addiction? That was a bit harsh but...wasn't it the truth? Wasn't it what he had thought about earlier? That the thought of the Strengthening Potion being gone didn't hurt physically? That he didn't seem quite so helpless without it now? He hadn't been addicted but...well, maybe he had.

He crossed his arms across his chest and waited for her answer, challenging her glare.

"Your potion, you berk," she rolled her eyes. "I know you were brewing it for your addiction. You're addicted to it and I need to know that you're clean now. I need to know that you won't just go and hit my child because she accidentally drools on something."

Astounded at her sternness and her information – Minerva no doubt – he didn't know what to say to this for the time being. She would trust him with her daughter again? If he said he was, as she put it, clean, she would trust him with her innocent daughter again? Even though he had raised his hand towards her? Even though he had wanted to hurt her?

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He didn't know what to feel – this was too big. Nobody had ever trusted him enough for things like that. Enough to risk his life, yes, enough with another human being instead of wizardkind in general, no. He had been trusted to risk his neck for Harry Potter but not enough to explain the entire truth. Not that he had wanted that but...How different would it have been if Dumbledore would have let him closer? If Dumbledore hadn't just used him but had accepted him as a friend? If he had one decent friend after Lily? If he had been trusted to care enough for other humans? If he had been trusted not only to keep secrets but to...he had to close his eyes again. It made no sense to ponder about this. It was all in the past and here was obviously a woman, and a child, who did trust him. If they gave them his promise, they would trust him again?

A part of his brain screamed at him not to be stupid, not to be too easily seduced by something like...friendship and trust and another part of his brain wanted this. Wanted him to take the risk, to promise them everything for their companionship.

But that was probably just his muddled brain after the two weeks of sleep and hallucinations and dreams. His general weakness and the effects of the delicious soup and the side-effects of the baby-magic.

He cleared his throat, and spooned up the rest of the soup before he looked at Christine again and had to clear his throat again. He would just...say it.

"I have, at this moment, no longing to take the potion," he said neutrally.

She nodded. "I understand," replied Christine but Severus wasn't sure what exactly that meant. Was she saying that it was enough or that it wasn't enough? That he had to continue missing Emma? That he couldn't see if Christine stuck to her dark brown hair or if she went back to the dreadful blonde? That he would never have the chance to persuade her to change her clothing?

"If you, ever, think of drinking excessively, or taking drugs again, I will have your bloody head. I will not have Burgundy growing up around addicts. I've had that, and I know you had that and I cannot fathom that you would want that for her or for any child you might have."

He nodded dumbly. Of course he had...turned into his father at his worst and...no. He wouldn't want that. Not for Emma and not for anyone. No.

He nodded again, "I won't," he said."

She smiled brightly. "Good then. I suppose we should get your...Erwin in here again because I think my Burgundy might still want some of that soup."

xx


	29. Chapter 29

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 27 (with interruptions, a confession and understanding)

xx

He was desperately tired and he could barely conceal his urge to yawn. Not even the fact that McGonagall had just returned – why ever that was necessary – could stop him from taking a last sip of his lukewarm tea, taking a last look at Emma and, without saying another word, only sending a glare at McGonagall and Lightfoot, he limped out of the kitchen. His knee hurt dreadfully but he was too tired to even think about it. And if those three women wreaked havoc upon his house, so it would be. He couldn't stay up anymore. His stomach was full, and he felt quite warm. Not an uncomfortable heat, a gentle, shining warmth that had spread from his full stomach up to his head and maybe it had been that wonderful warmth that had made him so tired again, or maybe it was something else but he needed to sleep now and it didn't matter that he had people in his house. He hadn't wanted them there, and his wand was upstairs in any case and, feeling to weak to try to channel his magic without it.

He couldn't care less. He would fight with McGonagall and Lightfoot later. Right now, he needed to sleep.

Damn this baby-magic.

xx

"I wanted to talk to him," Minerva muttered, looking after his retreating form. He limped quite badly and he hadn't even tried to order them out. He had just taken a sip of tea, and had left. Had shot her a glare, of course but had looked quite tenderly at the child and the woman. She wanted to shake her head at the utter oddness of the situation. Her, in a Muggle-Wizarding home, with a Muggle woman and her child, watching how Severus Snape left his kitchen. Couldn't even say a single word to him. Had left before she could do more than nod in greeting.

Maybe she truly had made a mistake in returning. She had duties. Duties to Hogwarts and the Wizarding World. The remains of the Order of the Phoenix, the other survivors of the war. But Severus...she hadn't mistreated anyone as badly as she had mistreated him and she wanted to...make amends. She wanted to be on good terms with him again. Wanted to stop this farce. Wanted to have things back to where they had been before the war – bickering about Quidditch, scolding about him taking too many points from Gryffindor, gossiping and listening to him ranting on about the odd choice of Defence against Dark Arts Instructors.

Of course it was naïve of her to think that way, wishful thinking of a child. Of course it was stupid because she couldn't turn back time (not anymore at least). But she would fix it.

"Yeah, so did I," the woman interrupted her thoughts rather rudely. "And as I recall, you gave me an oath to explain?"

Minerva levitated the pot of tea over to the table, grabbed a cup and after sitting down, poured herself some wonderfully fragrant Earl Grey before she sighed and looked the woman in the eyes.

"Yes," she nodded. "I did." She sighed and looked at the child who was snuggling cosily against her mother's breast, yawning and letting her eyes close slowly.

"Please. Do," she replied, softer than before, but also slightly colder.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why he freaked out like that," she answered immediately, meeting her gaze squarely but wrapped a sheltering arm around her child.

Minerva drew a deep breath, held it inside for a moment and exhaled slowly and audibly. "I gather you knew Severus as a child?"

"I did, but I don't know what fucking good it will do because it won't help me understand why he went to fucking sleep for such a long time. And why he decided it was a good idea to do that right after he almost slapped my child."

"I'd be very obliged if you could cease to use this language in front of me, young lady," she said in her sternest teacher-voice and was startled by her outburst of laughter but not only did it startle her but her daughter as well, who seemed to wake up for a moment again and only calmed when she settled her closer against her chest and rubbed her back. Her laughter had dwindled into a chuckle by then anyhow and she looked, with dancing eyes, at her.

"Young lady? I'm over thirty. I have a grown son. I'm not fifteen. And I use what fucking language I want to use."

"Fine," Minerva replied with a cold shrug. "If you wish to continue with that vulgar tongue of yours, I do not feel obliged to tell you what I know and what would possibly be better for you to know."

She seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. I'll try to do my best but I cannot guarantee anything."

Minerva grinned inwardly. Those tactics worked extraordinarily well on the woman. Just a bit of blackmail. She seemed to understand that currency.

"I will only tell you, in any case, what the general Wizarding public now anyhow. The private matters, those I have been told, and those he told me, in confidence, I cannot disclose. I hope you understand."

She nodded. "Go on then."

"We, and you, know that he was brought up here. I gather you know Lily Evans?"

"Yes," she growled, her face betraying her true sentiments about Lily. Obviously, she didn't like her much. "Posh bi..."

Minerva arched her eyebrows. "He went to school with her and they developed a friendship. For one reason or another, that friendship didn't last and we believe, and as I said, this is the belief of most of the Wizarding World, or the better informed part, this was the moment he finally decided, or was more drawn towards the Dark Side."

"Dark Side? As in Star Wars?" she frowned.

"I don't know what you're talking about. The Dark Side refers to Dark Wizards. Bad Wizards. Wanting power, wanting to rule."

"As in Star Wars, alright," she nodded.

"Whatever you say," Minerva replied coldly. "He joined an organisation whose members called themselves Death Eaters. You should know that those organisations, like, fascists in the Muggle world, strive on making others pay, making others feel inferior and don't hesitate to use violence. As far as we know, he joined willingly out of hurt, out of feeling misunderstood, we cannot be sure. However, when Lily Potter..."

"Evans?"

"Evans, who was by then Lily Potter was threatened..."

"He always carried a bloody torch for her. Soft spot for her, I remember. Always spent as much time as he could away from home and with her. Mind you, we all tried to spend as little time at home as poss..."

"It would help if you wouldn't interrupt me," she said, wanting to get this conversation over as quickly as possibly. The woman only arched her eyebrows but apart from patting her daughter's back gently, she did, and said, nothing. "When she was threatened, and he, as you put it, might have carried a torch for her, changed sides. I personally do not believe that it was merely this fact but a few others as well. And he was still so young by then, he was allowed the mistake, or he should be allowed to make a mistake in any case. However, he changed sides, unofficially, and became a spy for the Light. And before you ask, those are the people who fight against the Dark Side."

"I'm not completely daft," she mumbled rather angrily but remained silent after this.

"As a spy, and as you might imagine, he still had to do the same things as he had to do before for the Dark and their leader. We do not refer to him by name, and it wouldn't mean anything to you. There was a leader, however, a very charismatic one and I'm sure you know that all the best leaders, good or bad, cannot be anything else but charismatic. Winston Churchill, Hitler, Mussolini, Napoleon, Stalin, Julius Caesar, to name a few Muggles you might be familiar with. And he was one of the better ones – a very good orator, I'm told. Many, many fell for that, and for his promises to help them to a better life and a better society..."

"What was his goal?" she interrupted, rightly this time but Minerva sighed. This would be one long conversation.

"Wizards are born wizards. But they do not have to have magical, Wizarding parents. Lily Evans' parents, as you might remember, were completely normal Muggles. Those witches and wizards, are generally called Muggleborns. Wizarding children with one magical parent, or two magical parents but only two magical grandparents, are called half-bloods, those with four magical grandparents and eight magical great-grandparents are called purebloods. There are, of course, various degrees of purebloods and half-bloods but we do not exaggerate. There are no quarter-bloods or anything ridiculous like that. In any case, this leader, himself born by a witch and fathered by a Muggle believed in the superiority of purebloods. He belived Muggleborns soiled the Wizarding race. That they, like many other races in many other instances in Wizarding and Muggle history, should be...erased. Genocide, basically, in Muggle terms, or, if not genocide, then at least clear rule over those people. He targeted those, in terms of numbers, about fifteen hundred people were killed during his rule, or his attempt at ruling. This might not sound too much for you in comparison to what other leaders in other countries have done. However, the Wizarding World is a small one and while the number of murders of uninvolved Muggles are significantly smaller, about a two-hundred in total, it was innocent people that have been killed."

"So he believe that those...purebloods...were better than others and that's why he killed those others?"

"In a nutshell," Minerva agreed.

"Happens all the time, doesn't it?"

"Yes it does, sadly enough. But we must never stop fighting against such injustice and when Severus understood that, by whatever means, or by Lily's death, we cannot be certain, he did everything he could to fight his former master from within. I understand, however, that this put him in a dreadful position. He had to come on bended knee to...well, both of them..."

"Wait, wait, wait, who was the other master?"

"Albus Dumbledore. He was...for lack of a better word, the leader of the Light. He was also Headmaster of the school Severus taught at until a few...well, yes. Albus Dumbledore was his other master."

"You can speak his name but not the others?"

"Yes. Albus was a dear friend of mine. Manipulating people left and right as well but he was a good man and he only wanted the best, and he was my friend. And Severus' friend, I believe even though I cannot be too sure about this."

"Alright but why the bended knee?" she asked, and Minerva sighed. Again.

"Albus trusted him. But he knew that Severus had chosen his way earlier and he knew that Severus had to atone, and wanted to atone. But this is his story to tell, not mine. What I can tell you now is that I know that he was in a position where he came back to Hogwarts, the school, battered, bruised, bleeding and barely alive on more than one occasion. He was psychologically, a few times, at the brink of...anyway, I'm sure you can understand that having to torture, and even kill innocent people, or those you work closely with, is a hard, very hard thing to do for the best of men. He was forced into a position where he stood no chance but to either do as he was told by both his masters, or...die. He chose to live," she gulped down the rest of the lukewarm tea and took another deep breath.

"Albus, only a bit more than a year ago really, had been cursed. I understand that you as a Muggle would understand the term differently than we do but let me explain. A curse is something which will hit you, like a gun, which will infest your body, or your mind, which will stay with you and which can, easily, kill you. Curses can be either inflicted by a person directly, via their wands, or can be embedded into objects, like poisons. Albus was stupid enough to touch an object which carried a curse and as such, it was very clear that he was dying. We, and by we, I mean all of the Wizarding World apart from Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, didn't know that he was dying, though. A long story short, Dumbledore ordered Snape to kill him, to make sure that his position in the Dark Side's organisation and with their leader would be stabilised, would be better, deeper..."

"Why?" she looked rather disgusted, rather interested at the same time and listened with almost rapt attention. Even the patting of her daughter's back had stopped and even the arrogantly eyebrows had descended. She seemed like an inquisitive, eager person at that moment.

"There was a child, or these days, he's a young man, and he was the only one, or maybe not, we don't know, who could kill their leader. And Severus had vowed to help him. But in order to help him, he had to know exactly what the Dark Leader was doing. And for all his charisma, he was a suspicious person."

"Alright, so Severus had to kill this...Dumbledore?"

"Yes. But we all thought he had done it out of his own reasons, or on the Death Eaters' orders, not on Dumbledore's. We didn't know. And..." she stopped herself, unable to go on. Closing her eyes and biting her lip, she forced the bad memories down, or at least tried to. Not crying in front of this woman. She couldn't cry in front of her. Very rapidly, she shoved her own hands in front of her face, let her head fall forward and battled with herself, tried to breathe naturally, tried not to let it show how much this was affecting her. And yet, that was a battle she clearly could not win.

xx

The old woman had her face in her hands and her shoulders were shaking violently. Something was clearly there, something which had not been digested yet, by neither her, nor it seemed, Severus. Christine frowned and for a long moment, thought about what to do. She knew the right thing to do but she wasn't sure whether she was ready to do the right thing.

In the end, she got up very quietly and left the kitchen to go into the living room, building a nest for her daughter on the floor with the few cushions and blankets she found, kissing her forehead gently before she tiptoed back into the kitchen where the woman still sat, looking much older.

Not that she could see much – her entire face was covered by her hands and those were indeed rather old. She shrugged to herself and sat down again, pouring her another cup of tea. She couldn't bring herself to go over there and hug her. She wasn't a hugger and it didn't look like McGonagall was much of a huggee. Instead, she placed her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands and waited.

Alright, so this entire story intrigued her and she would have never guessed that Severus had done something like this. Killed, yes, he had said. But switching sides? Killing a sort of friend because he asked for it? Doing the right thing instead of the wrong? Having to do things on orders? It made her see him, she thought, a little differently. And if that which was to come was even worse than what had already been told...two weeks of sleep didn't seem enough.

Slowly, McGonagall emerged from her hands, her cheeks blotchy and her eyes red-rimmed and still faintly wet.

"I apologise," she said with a very nasal voice but Christine shrugged it off.

"Tea," she only said and oddly enough, McGonagall took a sip and nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I...no, he was made Headmaster. And since I, nor my colleagues, didn't know that he had acted on orders, since plenty of those working for the Light had never trusted Severus to have truly changed sides, we were quick to believe the worst of him. He was Headmaster for a year, or close to a year, actually and I'm ashamed..." she swallowed hard, a single tear running down her cheek, "I'm ashamed to admit that we treated him like...dirt. None of us supported him. He was alone during all this difficult time. We didn't talk to him if we didn't have to. We hated him. We...," she bit her lip.

"Tea," Christine said again and wondered, as McGonagall was clutching the cup tightly in both her hands, what else had happened. She had only ever seen her stoic, too prim, too...composed. Not falling apart like this and she admitted that she was shook by this revelation, by this woman in front of her who seemed to – regret – what she had done, how she had treated him. Whatever it meant. And whatever the entire story was.

It wasn't truly surprising that she had stayed there. Guilt was a big motivator.

"Thank you," she said, wiping furiously at her cheeks. "There was a battle and, it's actually not that long ago and it feels like a lifetime, well, since we all believed he was on the Dark Side, we fought him as well. I...tried to kill him and if my aim had been a little better of my intention a little stronger, I don't doubt that I would have succeeded. We don't know exactly what happened after that. We know that Harry Potter..."

"Who?"

"The boy, young man, who was to kill their leader, received memories from Severus. He could view them in a Pensieve, much as you could, and Harry revealed on which side Severus had really stood, that he had fought against his master, or former master, all the time. And..." she stopped again, and hid her face in her hands once more. "I so regret how we treated him, that we didn't trust him," she seemed to sob, muffled by her hands.

Christine sat with wide eyes. Severus, the boy, back at Primary School, the target of so many bullies because of his bad clothes, his alcoholic father (even if the bullies were no better, their fathers just as much drunks as his had been), the laughing stock, he had not been trusted. He had been betrayed by those he had wanted to trust, He had to do things, and the way McGonagall had looked during her explanation, dreadful things, things he didn't want to do. All that pressure. Spying, fighting, keeping it all together.

Combined with a drug that had probably, most likely, helped him carry on during that time, when he had nobody to talk to, nobody to trust, was a recipe for living at the edge, dangerously close. Too close.

Not surprising he had almost slapped Burgundy. Not surprising he had reacted like that when the drug had been the only reliable thing in his life. Not surprising he had wanted to kill himself that slowly.

Carefully, she inched her hand over the table and placed it, gingerly, on McGonagall's arm and squeezed it gently.

_**xx**_

_**A/N: I'm very sorry it took so long but I was on holiday and since I was with a few other people, I was in no position to write. I'm sorry and I hope this sort of makes up for it (even without Severus. More of him next chapter. I promise)**_


	30. Chapter 30

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 28 (with Roast Beef at 3, letters and a pair of jeans)

xx

He carefully listened, his eyes closed. There was no light filtering in, no orange glow behind his eyelids that would betray what time of day or night it was. He listened, strained, but there was absolutely no noise. He couldn't hear any talking, any babbling, any crying, no indication that there was anybody left in his house. He was sure that could be a ruse from the two women, but Emma could never be kept quiet for such a long time that he listened – well, maybe if she slept, she would be this quiet. But no, it didn't sound like anyone was left in his house and he stretched almost languidly. His knee twitched slightly but he felt wide awake. Not many things hurt – his knee and his left hip, and a bit of his back but the hip and the back could be attributed to his being in bed for such a long time, lying on his side, curled up. His head didn't hurt and he allowed a small smile to play across his lips. He would never let anyone see it but he was smiling.

The day had been overwhelming, he thought, his eyes closed still. Emma was...she was...he didn't know any words to describe her and the way she had acted. He could, in a way, still feel her little arms around him and, he stretched again, his arms raised, and ran his tongue over his teeth.

Well.

She had kissed that? Severus' eyes flew open. She had truly and honestly kissed him and had, without hesitation it seemed, brought her child back to him.

The room was dark when he sat up straight and listened some more. She had willingly handed her child back to him and she had kissed what tasted even to himself like...rot. It was truly dark and he heard absolutely no noise and it made little sense to linger in bed, making himself think about that woman and her seemingly uncharacteristic ability to forgive. To just ignore the fact what he had almost done to her child. He needed to leave this bed and brush his teeth, shower, find some more to eat, maybe ask Erwin for a decent meal. His stomach was actually demanding food. A long, hot shower, freshly brushed teeth, a cup of tea and a meal. Roast beef sounded just about the most delicious thing. He would shower, eat, read, and start his new life.

Almost two weeks of constant sleep-deprivation, or too much sleep, and self-flagellation, hallucinations and dreams and a whatever it had been, and enough time that he was able to sleep off the urge to take Strengthening Potion. No, he didn't want to take the Potion anymore. No matter which way he looked at it, he didn't want to take it. It had blurred his perception, and it had made him dreadfully vulnerable. All of his actions, only working towards his leaving this place and resettling to Greenland.

An idea with its own merit but...no. England was his home. Yorkshire was his home. Spinner's End, rotten hole that it was, was his home.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Emma and her mother lived across the street. It had nothing to do with the fact that Christine allowed him to hold Emma and that Emma had forgiven him so easily. Nothing at all.

He showered until the water ran only cold from the taps, brushed his teeth for around ten minutes or longer, and in fresh, clean clothing, he walked quietly down the stairs. His limp was still there but less pronounced than before and he felt, oddly enough, not only wide awake but also very refreshed. Having absolutely no problems to find his way in the dark house (the old alarm clock had said three fourteen when he had come from the shower), he entered the kitchen and heard the first noise now. Not a human noise but a rather strange sounding gurgling noise which he identified immediately as elf-snoring. Those damned creatures. Even snoring sounded odd when it came from them.

He knew Erwin would be devastated if he wouldn't wake him immediately but he didn't have it in his heart to do it. He could make his own tea and by the time the kettle whistled, the elf sleeping in his little nest in the corner of the kitchen would wake all by himself. And would probably go all out to make the best meal ever. Even if Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding wasn't the usual breakfast fare. He didn't care.

For the first time in years, Severus felt like himself. Severus felt ready to make sure the Wizarding World knew what he had done and that they could go to hell. Severus felt ready to...conquer the world. Well, no, he wouldn't go so far. But he felt better than he had in a long time. Whether it was because he felt, for the first time in years, like he had just had a wonderful night's sleep, waking up refreshed and relaxed, or was an after-effect of prolonged baby-magic, he didn't know and frankly, didn't even care.

The Ministry would get Snape if they wanted Snape. Acerbic, nasty Snape, telling them only what he had to tell them. He didn't need to grovel at their feet anymore. He didn't have to prove anything to anyone anymore. He had done his job and if they could not find it in themselves to forgive him for what he had done – it was their own fault. If someone like Christine could forgive him enough to hand him her baby back, they shouldn't hold such grudges if they didn't want to hold grudges. And that, he had no doubt, they wanted. They wanted to make him an outcast and if they were convinced to do it, he could grovel as much as he wanted, could dance to their tune as much as he liked, he wouldn't change anything. He had paid his dues now.

And if he had to live a a Muggle in Spinner's End, he would talk to the Ministry only once and only because they wouldn't leave him in peace if he didn't and after that, it was his choice what to do with his life.

For the first time. Ever. His choice.

He smirked quietly, filling the kettle with water. He hadn't felt so free in his life ever. Emma and her forgiveness...he couldn't explain it but it was there. So easy, so simple, so quick. Just a smile, a squealing exclamation of Snep and pulling on the hair of his legs and it was all forgiven. So simply.

If he had known that forgiving was so simple...he shook the thought form his head. It made no sense to dwell on it and he couldn't claim that he knew how to forgive either. He couldn't truly expect the world to forgive him if he would never forgive them either. But...Emma...she had and it was...extraordinary.

Same, or almost the same, went for Christine. But that, he couldn't think about.

"Oh Master Severus Sir you is up!" a squeal came from the nest where the elf had, a second before, still snored disgustingly.

"That I am," he replied, grateful that the elf had interrupted his thoughts on Christine. They would have, inevitably, returned to their kiss and even if his teeth were clean now, he didn't want to think about that now. And he had possibly treated Erwin just as badly as the rest of the people during the last month or so and that had been wrong, he knew. Erwin had always been there. Disapproving of the potion he had taken for the first time when he had entered Dumbledore's office as Headmaster for the first time (having half expected it to not let him in). Erwin had helped him and Erwin had stood by his side loyally, even with his inane orders from the dead Dumbledore not to let Severus harm himself.

Oh. How the elf must have felt during those...oh. He nodded at Erwin and when the tiny creature ran towards him, hugging his knees fiercely, he patted him on the shoulders, both shoulders and let his hands linger there for as long as the elf hugged his legs.

"Yes, alright, Erwin. I'm up, I'm awake and the kettle is whistling," he said and sounded gentler than intended but it had the effect that the elf looked up, his purple eyes brimming with tears, happy tears, Severus hoped, and let go off his knees.

"Can Erwin do something for Master Severus Sir?" he asked giddily.

"Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding would be very nice," he replied almost kindly.

"But is the middle of the night, Master Severus Sir. Roast Beef is not breakfast."

"Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding," he repeated, sternly.

"Yes, Master Severus Sir. Master Severus Sir look very nice and very happy."

xx

She stood, rather undecided, in front of her wardrobe. She hadn't slept. Well, hadn't slept much in any case. Those scenarios McGonagall had explained, described, and the way the woman had almost broken down ran through her head over and over again. She hadn't looked very nice crying and it had been very disconcerting to see her crying. More disconcerting than seeing her grandmother cry back then. And definitely more disconcerting than seeing her father cry when her mother had died (and it was rich, coming from him. Crying. When he had been...oh well. A long time ago). She had put the woman neatly in a drawer – and that confession had pulled her out of that drawer again and Christine was unable to put her in another.

She had thought about it long and hard, about that woman and her feelings of guilt. She could understand those best of all feelings, possibly. Feeling guilty was, in a way, second nature to her, even if she didn't like admitting it. Feeling guilty about her son, about her parents, about the punchbag of her mother and the way she had never interfered. About letting herself be used in that way, about plenty of things. Quitting school too early, having no decent job. Guilt – yes, she was familiar with that.

But in that woman? She had always seemed so sure of herself and she felt guilty about making the same mistake, she had blamed McGonagall making – judging by outward appearances, by only seeing what met the eye instead of digging a little deeper.

But eventually, she couldn't stop herself from thinking about Severus and his admittedly rotten-tasting kiss and about all the things that McGonagall had told her. He was a fucking hero and he was brave. He was courageous and strong and he didn't pay any attention to his own well-being as long as others suffered.

And – he loved Burgundy. Had given her his own name. Had called her Emma again. And she had just wanted a special name for her special girl, having survived, having been born when everything had been against her. When her father had been killed by someone who acted more like a father. By a substitute father who was not afraid of cuddling her. Who listened to her when she babbled one of her stories. Severus, the murderer of the father was acting like the perfect father.

How she hated irony.

She didn't know what to wear. Well, she did know but she still hesitated. After all, she had promised McGonagall to go over and look after him while she did...whatever she did. Hopefully, sleep. She needed to sleep and to sort her thoughts. Guilt could eat people alive. And McGonagall was someone who wasn't supposed to be eaten alive by guilt. She was a stern, frank, honest, too prim but she was one of those women that should not be eaten by guilt. She needed to be strong for others. Christine knew the feeling.

With a sigh, she pulled the jeans and a modest long-sleeved shirt from her wardrobe and was, for a moment when she turned around, blinded by the rising sun. It was beautiful. A blood-red sun rising on a new day, and a pink, blue, grey sky. She smiled slightly. Sunrises like that never failed to put a smile on her face. It was beautiful.

She shrugged to herself and dressed quickly and put her hair into a messy pony tail and made coffee. It was the day that required coffee and, maybe, a cigarette to go with it.

She wasn't sure how to see him. She couldn't help but admire him now – and she knew things about him that she wasn't supposed to know, or shouldn't have known, possibly. And he didn't know that she knew, which was probably worse. She knew people like him. She was the same. Acting in private, not wanting to be thanked, not wanting others to know that she was a good person. She hated that kind of attention. She hated being thanked and he was the same, she knew.

She sighed and went into her daughter's room, smiling at her girl who was up and smiling at her already.

"Good morning, darling," she said gently, unable to stop herself from smiling back, "We're going to see Severus later. Do you want to see Severus?"

Her daughter frowned. "Snape, Burgundy. The one who calls you Emma?"

"Snep!" she grinned, flashing her shiny teeth. "Snep! Emma."

"Emma, eh?" Christine bit her lip. "Do you want to be called Emma?"

"Snep."

"Yes, I know that. Come on, we'll have a bit of breakfast and then go over and see him."

xx

He hadn't expected so much mail to have come for him. The Ministry had written, which he had expected, but there was also some hate-mail, which he had kind of expected and some letters of admiration and, oddly enough, a rather strangely phrased letter from – Harry Potter.

Well, not strangely phrased per se, just...odd.

_Professor Snape,_ (it said)

_thank you for all that you've done. I'm sorry and thank you._

_Harry Potter_

Nothing more, nothing less and after the big meal of Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding at half past three in the morning, and even during the cup of brilliant coffee that Erwin had brewed afterwards, he didn't feel inclined to answer it. What was there to say in any case? You're welcome? Not the exact sentiments of what he was feeling but he had to give it to the boy, this was surprisingly tactful. No appearance at his house with a long-winded apology and a thank you. Just a short note on regular parchment. Nothing more, nothing less.

He had put that letter away, had given the hate-mail to Erwin to burn, had kept some of the letters of admiration and thanks and had gone to work to answer the Ministry. Bloody people still thought he would be at their beck and call. He wasn't.

_Dear Mister Snape,_ (their letter read)

_please answer to your summons on July 5th on 2 pm. You will be expected in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic and met by myself or my assistant._

_Theobald Thriffleling_

Idiots. Thought they could summon him. He pondered his reply for a long moment, then decided on a letter to the Minister, as he understood Kingsley Shacklebolt was these days, himself.

_Shacklebolt,_

_if you think you can force me to the Ministry, you're wrong. I will be there as soon as I can fit it in my schedule. I will not be summoned and I will not be met by some stupid Ministry-official who hasn't ever done anything in his life but shuffling paper. I think I will be able to find my way._

_S. Snape._

That would suffice and he asked Erwin to get him an owl.

He even considered answering some of the admiration-mail but then decided that the baby-magic hadn't worked so well and he was still, after all, a snarling, evil bastard. And the Ministry would know about this sooner rather than later.

He still wondered about Potter's letter when there was a knock on the door. Minerva, possibly, or, if he was lucky, or unlucky, Christine with her...Emma. No matter which of those it was, he was well enough to spar, he was well enough to answer every question and every accusation. He felt relaxed, well-rested and he had just given the Ministry a polite piece of his mind. He could deal with anything – even without the Potion he had thought he couldn't do without.

He straightened, sitting at his desk had hurt his back further and walked slowly to the front-door, hearing, even from inside, Emma's excited babbling. It was her. And she had brought her baby. Again. He still couldn't understand. Still couldn't see how she could forgive him enough to hand her the most precious thing in his life.

Severus opened the door rather quicker than he normally would and was greeted by a strange sight. Emma, squealing 'Snep' on her mother's arm was not truly strange, and her wriggling out of her arms wasn't that strange either. It wasn't strange that he reached out for her and took her but what was strange was...she truly wore decent clothing, a pair of jeans and along-sleeved, high-collared neck. A decent hairstyle. And a smile on her face.

xx


	31. Chapter 31

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

_**For VivaPalestina and her brilliant exam.**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 29 (with a meeting, a long look and Judi Dench)

xx

"Snape," she said, then shook her head, "Severus." She smiled.

He nodded only. He couldn't remember when he had asked her to call him by his given name but it seemed like...the way it should be. It sounded alright, almost familiar. And – she should be allowed to call him by his first name. She had, after all, kissed him.

Still, he couldn't, quite yet, call her by her first name. In his head, she was Christine, no doubt, but to her face, she would be, for the time being, absolutely nothing. And in all honesty, he shouldn't (and wouldn't) really act like a berk just because she had kissed him. He would not suddenly fall in love with her just because she was the only one who seemed to be unafraid of touching him (apart from her daughter but that was different). So she had kissed him. Plenty of people kissed plenty of people every damn hour of every damn day. Just because he couldn't remember his last kiss was just...he scowled at her and stepped aside to let her in, Emma sitting happily on his arm, having found his earlobe to play with gently.

"Thank you," she said, and for a moment he was tempted to see what her behind looked like in those jeans but he held himself back. He would not make the same mistake again. Just because someone showed him a modicum of attention didn't mean that they were really interested in him. And especially not that way. It never went that way. Instead, he pried Emma's fingers from his earlobe and even as she sat on his arm, he had to hold on to her chubby fingers.

"McGonagall said I should see if you're alright," she volunteered the information. Well that was – mh. So of course she wasn't interested in him. She had been ordered to see if he was alright.

"Of course I'm alright," he snapped unkindly. "What do you think?"

"Well, maybe that you'd gone to bloody bed again and back to sleep for another fortnight, Sleeping Beauty," she snapped back. "Or that you had finally taken the quicker route and had just slit your wrists."

He sneered at her. So that was what she was like. Of course she was. "Would have enjoyed it, eh?"

"No," she bellowed. "You stupid man, we're doing every-fucking-thing to fucking wake you up and to make you feel good again and you just say that of course you're alright. Listen, mate, I don't wanna be thanked but I fucking sat here for half the night listening to Minerva drone on and on how much you had done for their world and what a hero you are and that she's so fucking sorry and you behave like a...oh," she stopped herself as soon as she had looked up. His face had grown utterly expressionless at the mentioning of being thanked and all of the possibly Occlumency-shields in his head had snapped up when she had said Minerva. So he was the laughingstock now. He was the one they all had their giggles about. Misguided Snape, falling in love and never able to forget it until he almost, or for a few minutes, died. Stupid sod for loving a woman that had never existed anywhere but his head.

"Fuck, Snape," he heard her mutter. "I didn't want to tell you like this. And..."

He only heard half her words. She, like everyone else, … she just knew about him and used that knowledge against him. They all would. At the Ministry, at home, Greenland sounded, suddenly, like a good option again. Even though...what was it she had just said?

"She only told me what this Wizarding world of yours know and she could have just as well given me newspapers. At least she said so. And she had no right, yeah but she told me because I fucking made her. She gave me an oath. I made her promise, because I didn't understand why you were lying there like that. I fucking thought you'd die, you stupid man!" she cried suddenly and stood in front of him, one hand, suddenly, on Emma's back and the other holding his arm. "I don't want you to die, you idiot. Nobody else can handle her the way you do."

He frowned. He couldn't make out what she wanted to say. He couldn't understand what it was she did want to say, what she wanted to express. She was possibly just talking to keep talking. Or...he didn't understand what she wanted. He understood Emma on his arm but he didn't understand her standing there like that.

"You're a brave man, Severus. Whether you like it or not. I know that you saved me and my daughter but from what Minerva McGonagall said, you saved plenty of other people as well. Or did I misunderstand her?"

Slowly, he shook his head. He was dreadfully confused and had to take a sniff of Emma's hair, hoping it would soothe him. He couldn't sort his thoughts and he looked at her in bemusement.

xx

She had to stifle a giggle. He seemed utterly confused, the poor man. He clung more to her child than the girl clung to him, actually. Strange to see him like that, oddly imposing one minute, and almost faltering the next. So he didn't do questions after his health or his well-being too well. Not that she was surprised by that. In all honesty, she was the same way. If she had stayed in bed for two weeks, had just cleaned up (and well...he did clean up rather nicely now. Shaven, minty smeel coming from his mouth, his eyes widen open and alert), she wouldn't want to be asked how she was, actually. Or if she was alright. Of course not. But still, for once she had wanted to do a nice thing and it had almost blown up into her face.

She wasn't sure how she had managed to make him nod, to make him acknowledge that he was a hero and brave. Or if it had something to do with the girl on his arm, she wasn't sure. Maybe it had been her, stepping closer to him and, for once using physical contact and touching his arm and her girl. She wasn't sure what it was but when he nodded and looked her straight into her eyes, she knew she had done something right and when he exhaled a moment later, it wasn't only his minty breath that washed over her.

She smiled briefly, then cleared her throat. "Do you think I could get a cup of tea?" she asked, stepping away from him.

"Fine," he nodded. "But don't get it into your silly head that I'm some form of dark, misunderstood brave victim. I killed. I did not lie when I said that. You experienced it first hand. I killed and I'm capable of hurting people. I'm not a nice person."

"Do you think I am _nice_?" she snorted. "Do you think anyone that's grown up around here is..._nice_?"

He said nothing, only looked at her for a moment before he limped into his kitchen, his shoulders as broad as she had never seen them, as erect as never before and his chin held up high. Something was different about him and he didn't hold himself like a whipped dog, like someone who was unsure of himself. Something had shifted. It had been there when she had come in, it had been gone briefly, and had come back full force when she had just accepted his statement that he wasn't nice. He wasn't nice, and she wasn't. Who was interested in nice anyway? Nice was definitely overrated. And nice was the wrong way to go about in this town, or in this neighbourhood at least. Nice didn't help you with the social, with the council, with anyone. Nice didn't work and if he had a mean streak, that was completely alright with her. If he could protect her and her daughter, that was only positive, wasn't it? They could use someone like him and since he loved her girl, he would do everything in his power to protect her and to help her. So he had killed. It didn't truly bother her. At least he didn't pretend to be quite so posh.

She followed him, with her daughter on his arm, into the kitchen, quite thoughtful. He was not at all what she had thought he was when she had first re-countered him back then, after he had killed her biological father, when he had been so exhausted and weak. He had not left this world entirely. He was still part of it, deep inside was still the neglected child, the boy who knew that he had to fight to be taken seriously, to fight to survive in this environment. And what McGonagall had said – well – that only added to that perception of his. He had to fight in order to survive in both of the worlds he inhabited.

She let out a long sigh, and he turned around, standing in the kitchen already, looking at her in a quite puzzled manner.

"What?" he asked, his voice a drawl, probably trying to sound arrogant and in control. But he wasn't. She could see it clearly. He wasn't in control at all. He felt completely out of his depths and it showed by the way he held the girl tightly.

"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head. "I was just...wondering."

"Yes?" he asked, turning away from her again, making his way to the kettle.

"I'll do it," she said quickly. "She has a way of interfering if you want to cook something." It wasn't a lie. Her daughter wanted to interfere. She liked touching things, as probably all babies did, and she liked distracting people. But, at the same time, Christine wanted to keep busy. She wasn't too sure if it was a good idea to look too closely at him. He was dangerous, with his heroism, and his strength and the way he could look at her if he wanted. It was too disturbing and falling for him would, possibly, be a bad idea. It would be a good idea as well, but...she swallowed the urge to sigh again and busied herself with the kettle.

Besides, there were things she wanted to know, things he had to clear up, and she was no coward, she had to ask him. Sooner rather than later. Ask for confirmation of all the things McGonagall had told her. Ask for more information.

"So you spied?" she asked conversationally? "Is it like James Bond? You know, all fancy gadgets and Judi Dench telling you what to do?"

She didn't turn around to look at him. She kept her eyes on the kettle on the stove. She didn't really want to see his reaction, or when he would decide that she was to be thrown out.

"No fancy gadgets," he replied in a clear, but quiet voice and she heard a chair scraping across the tiled floor. "You're going to ask all those questions now, aren't you? Because Minerva couldn't keep her mouth shut."

"Just some questions," she shrugged, her back to him. "And of course I want to know who the man is that my daughter has decided to fall in love with."

She heard a sharp gasp and spun around. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to turn her back. Yes, she knew that he wouldn't hurt her girl again but...she couldn't be sure. And to protect her was highest on her list of priorities.

"I don't..." he stammered, and her statement had, obviously, thrown him. There was no more indifference in his face, no more posh arrogance, and no more...nothing. It was an open, honest, shocked face. As if a mask had dropped finally.

She laughed a little strained, nervously. "Come on, you can't be surprised. Look at her, she's adoring you," she pointed at her daughter, snuggled to his chest, her face resting on his neck, her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. She looked utterly content and happy. And maybe, Christine thought, she would look just as happy if she was held by such strong arms, against such a masculine, wonderful chest...she rolled her eyes at herself. Banishing such thoughts, just banishing them.

He, on the other hand, sought out her eyes, looked into her eyes and held her gaze. She was quite unable to look away either. His right eye held too much...power. It was beautiful, for lack of a better word. Almost black, almost no difference in colour between his pupil and his iris. One orb of glittering black depth. She couldn't pull her gaze away.

xx

Honey-coloured. With the faint light coming in from the very clean kitchen window (Erwin had done a good job there), a ray of sun grazing her face, her eyes seemed to be the colour of honey. They held his interest, they showed depths beyond what people thought of her. They were curious but not intrusive. Not yet, in any case. He found he couldn't drag his eyes away from hers and he just looked on, unable to say something.

It was shaking his world, his conceptions about himself, his entire being. Not that it should come as much of a surprise but to hear it out of her mouth that Emma adored him, was in love with, or loved, him, shocked him. She had noticed and she wasn't afraid to say so. True, the girl in his arms snuggled, cuddled with him. But...she was a baby, she was a child and he was a monster. A monster that would, definitely, annoy the Ministry of Magic and, in turn, the rest of the Wizarding World, but a monster nevertheless. Unlovable. He was unlovable. And yet, those honey-coloured eyes spoke a different language. They held no contempt for him. Only...dare he think it...acceptance.

The skin around her eyes was crinkled slightly, almost as if she was smiling a little, a secret smile that was mostly in her eyes and in her mind, no displayed openly on her mouth. She just looked at him and seemed to come to a sort of quiet understanding. Not what he would have expected from her, from that vulgar, loud, working class, Yorkshire woman.

He just looked into her eyes and he couldn't say for how long, since Emma was quietly, happily, playing with his buttons and since she made absolutely no move to turn away either. He would tell her. And he would take her, under a disguise, with Emma, to the Ministry. If he had those two with him, especially Emma with her...adoration...for him, they would begin to underestimate him. And he would have a bigger chance of getting out there alive. If he put a glamour on them, or just charmed their hair a different colour, ask Minerva for witches' attire, nobody would ever realise they were just Christine and Emma. He would take them. And, yes, it was a good, if strange feeling, to look into her eyes and saw trust and openness instead of suspicion and hatred.

"I was a spy, for both sides," he said and his voice sounded rather hoarse. "I didn't have any fancy gadgets, just my wand and an extra wand for emergencies. Most of the time, I just had my own wits, nothing more. And no, I didn't receive orders from someone called Judi Dench," he still looked at her, "but I suppose Minerva told you that."

"Yes," she replied, voicelessly and her eyes were still on his. They fell quiet and a long moment passed until the kettle broke the silence and he was unable to see her eyes anymore. She had pulled away first, busying herself with the kettle and if he hadn't had Emma to hold, he would want to fidget a little, not knowing what he was supposed to think. What he was supposed to feel about that strange look that had just passed between them.

But whatever it had been, whatever had passed between them just now, it made him speak before he could stop himself, before he could stop any words from just coming out of his mouth in that strange atmosphere, before he could slap his hand in front of his mouth to quiet himself. It was too late when he heard his own voice, definitely his own voice but so foreign to his ears.

"Would you help me?"


	32. Chapter 32

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 30 (with smirks, mood-swings and a mystery animal)

xx

"Would you help me?" he asked in a voice that sounded a lot younger than he truly was, a voice that was strained and of course it would be. He asked just as much for help as she did – not at all. She could see it in his face now that he wished he could take it back, shove the words right back where they came from and she wasn't sure how to react. His eyes had drawn her in and he had let his guard down enough to ask for her help. For her help. Whatever it was she could help with.

Not that she could do much, now she thought about it. What could she do for him? Just sit there with him and let him talk if he needed to. Not that she expected him to do that. Pouring hearts out wasn't what they did. Surprising that he had said so much already.

She noticed now that she hadn't even answered him yet and his face had grown strangely expressionless, even if he still held her girl tightly.

"I would," she said quietly, "under the right circumstances. But you realise that it depends on what you need my help with."

He suddenly let out a loud, rusty bark of laughter, one that made her girl jump and look at him puzzled.

"What?" she snapped. "Do you think I will do any-fucking-thing for you? Even if you ask?"

"No, that's not it," he said with oddly shining eyes. "I just wonder if everyone around here would be a Slytherin."

"A what?" she frowned. Why was this man not sticking to one bloody topic at the time? And if she went to the defensive, he would follow suit immediately and she wouldn't ever find out what he could possibly need her help with.

"Slytherin. I'll explain in due time," he said, and there were little wrinkles around his eyes. Amusement. He was amused. "It's a house at the school I taught at and you just answered like the typical Slytherin."

She shrugged. "Alright, what's the help you need then?"

He took a deep breath and looked at the girl's head before he fixed his eyes on hers again. "It seems I have to speak to one or a few jumped up idiots at the Ministry of Magic. Apparently, they think that they can persuade me to say things that will either discriminate myself or other dead people..."

"_Other_ dead people?" she interrupted.

He arched an eyebrow and a slow smirk spread across his face. "I think most of them would prefer me dead."

"And you want me to...what?" she asked, getting impatient. And she wasn't making the mistake again of looking at him too much, too deeply. He had a way of looking at her that truly made her uncomfortable. Or very comfortable. There wasn't that much difference between those two feelings at the moment.

"I would like to go with you and Emma," he said, looking squarely at her.

"To some sort of Ministry?" she giggled. "With me? To bureaucracy-people? Do you want to give them trouble?"

"That is the general idea, yes," he smirked rather maliciously and it made butterflies in her stomach flutter. Not a good feeling. Or a good feeling. How a malicious smirk could make her feel when it came from his face.

"You want me and my daughter to come along with you to make trouble?"

"No," he shook his head immediately. "Just your presence will make more trouble."

"Why?"

Severus sighed and shifted the girl on his arm, settling her on his lap and she even thought she could see him bouncing her on his knee. She watched in fascination as his smirk died slowly and as his lower lip wandered into his mouth. He cleared his throat and looked at her child's head.

"Because you're a woman."

"Really? Am I? I never knew," she said sarcastically. "Why? Do you have a wife? Or...girlfriend there? Someone you want to make jealous or what?"

He shook his head immediately. "No, it's not that."

"What then?"

"I would like to change your and her appearance slightly, however. I do not want to risk either of your lives."

"Snape! What? Changing appearances? Me causing trouble? Are you bloody demented?"

He sighed again. "No, I'm not demented. I want to...I have to tell you the entire story, don't I?"

Shrugging, Christine turned around on her chair and stood up, filling up the kettle with more water. There was probably enough tea in the pot still but she couldn't stand to sit there. He had gone from maliciously smirking to sounding oddly crestfallen. And she didn't want to look at him that way. She had liked him better plotting some sort of revenge.

"Nobody expects me to show up with a woman there because they all think they know me," he said in barely more than a whisper.

"Oh!" she said suddenly and spun around. "They can't honestly think that you still have a thing for Lily Evans, do they?"

She wished, in that moment, that she could take the words back, or that she at least hadn't looked at him. His face was thunderous, beaming with barely concealed rage.

"Who told you?" he asked, his voice too silky for words and too dangerous. It sounded like the man that had almost slapped her daughter.

"I knew you had a thing for her when we were children. It's no secret, Severus," she explained quickly, trying to calm herself. He was not about to slap her or her daughter. He would never do that again. She hoped. No, of course he wouldn't. He had done it before. He wouldn't do it before. And he didn't look like he was about to slap the little one. She just sat there happily leaning against his chest. And his temper seemed to be cooling as well.

"And McGonagall said that you knew her at school and that she died. So I just figured..."

"She told you," he said voicelessly. "They all know. Pathetic Snape loving the same woman for such a long time because he couldn't get anything better. It's not true. Lily was my friend. She was my friend and she died because of me. It was my fault that she died and this was not out of misunderstood love for her but because I killed her and I had, have, an obligation. I have to..."

He looked at her deeply, almost pleadingly it seemed. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to react to this...outburst. She looked at her child, happily chewing on Severus's fingers now and he seemed to just let it happened. Had missed the moment probably, just as she had, when the girl had shoved his fingers into her mouth and had begun to use it as a chewing toy.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Right. Do we go now?"

xx

He didn't want to think about Lily. Lily was a shadow, had set him free. There was no stinging pain when he thought about how different his life could have been if he hadn't said that word. There was no dull ache even. Just...disappointment at himself. Just...nothing much. Just Lily and he didn't want to fall too deep into thoughts about her, weary of the pains he could – had been able to – evoke with even the hint of a thought about her. Not that he felt anything now but trepidation about telling her all that. Her with the honey-coloured, definitely not green eyes.

"Right. Do we go now?" she asked suddenly, her tone light and his thoughts straightened. The first thing he noticed, however, were wet fingers and a weird sort of feeling on his left hand. As he looked down to see what it was, he found his fingers into Emma's mouth and her, happily, gurglingly, chewing on them. He wasn't as disgusted as he thought he ought to be. Instead, he only gently withdrew them and pulled his wand out of his sleeve, transfiguring his saucer into a more suitable toy. He handed it to her, knowing that Christine was waiting for an answer and was watching them with eager, curious eyes.

"Here, Emma," he whispered to the top of her head and the girl began to giggle and shove almost the entire porcelain ring into her mouth. Not that he knew if that was a suitable toy but she couldn't possibly chew edges off.

She was puzzling him. Not Emma. Emma was...as clear as anyone could be who was comfortable so close to him. Christine was the one who...she had just listened and had acted a Slytherin and had even understood his odd change of mood. Or had not commented on it in any case. She had just waited for him to say things. Nothing more. And that alone was...odd.

He could hear her breathing as well, sitting now at the table again, hold her cup with both her hands and apart from that, and his own breathing, it was only Emma's delighted squeals and giggles that broke through the silence.

"Yes," he heard himself say. "If you don't mind helping me."

"I don't mind helping you," she answered quickly – almost too quickly, he thought – but her face was open and clear and she almost wore a smile. "But as I said before, I wouldn't do just anything. Annoying bureaucratic people is a hobby of mine," she smirked, mirroring his own from before. Fooling, annoying the Ministry would be a great thing – and it would chase away the rest of the dark thoughts that had befallen him. He shouldn't allow himself those. He should just go on thinking about how he could, in due time, overthrow some of the idiots at the Ministry and how he could, in due time, shock the Wizarding World with his pure presence. Those were the good thoughts. Getting back at them, having his revenge, vengeance. Making them realise that he was a force to be reckoned with. That he wasn't dead and that he wasn't about to be gagged or muzzled by some Ministerial dunderheads. He had earned his right to speak and his right to have a place amongst the decent people of the Wizarding World – whether he truly wanted that or not. He had earned it. He had risked his life for them. For all of them.

Not that he would get a reward. But he would make himself known. Would make them pay by annoying them. And an annoying, vulgar Muggle woman and her child were the best place to start. Nobody would believe that. And they would all very quickly realise that he wasn't still pining for Lily. Even if he was (which he didn't want to find out at the moment but which he doubted), it was none of their business. And Emma's eyes and hair were dark enough to be from his side of the family as well. She could be considered his if people didn't watch too closely. That would teach them to make assumptions about him. He would only change Emma's nose ever so slightly, make sure her eyebrows were a little higher and her cheeks a little thinner that was should be enough. A baby was a baby – the way he saw it.

Christine he would...he looked at her almost absently. She didn't have the classic good looks. She wasn't beautiful in any case but she had pretty eyes. Her nose was straight. Her lips not too thin. Her cheekbones...hidden. Her earlobes a bit too big. He would set her cheekbones higher as well, or let her appear to have higher ones, more prominent ones. He would change the colour of her eyes to...blue and broaden her nose a little. The hair could stay, the earlobes could stay. Her hands a little bigger, her legs a little longer.

None of this would be visible to those who knew her. Those who had seen her before would only see her. Christine Lightfoot. With her honey-coloured ears and her too big earlobes. But those who'd see her for the first time, and he figured it would be all of the people at the Ministry, would see this other person.

"I'll do it now," said Severus and pointed her wand at her. "And I will call you..."

"Michelle?"

He frowned. "If you wish. Emma can be Emma but I think we should avoid calling her by her name," he replied. "It should not take long anyway and I don't want you to say too much?"

"Already setting me rules, Severus?" she smirked. "We haven't been together for that long."

xx

It was beautiful. It hadn't happened in a long time. And – to be honest – it was just the tips of his ears. But those glowed. Bright red. She couldn't remember ever seeing tips of ears that blushed before. So red.

She had to bite back on a grin and barely noticed how he flicked his wand at her. It was...odd to see him blushing. Even if it was just visible through the hair. Odd what could be achieved through a little, minute comment. Not even full blown flirting. Just a comment. A joke.

He didn't seem to happy with his glowing ears, though, and set to work, it seemed. Not that she felt any different. She still felt a little too fat (and when she looked down, she still was a little too fat) but she almost stepped between his wand and her daughter when she watched him point it at her. It was one thing to change her appearance but the girl?

But even though he flicked and swished and waved, nothing seemed to happen to her. She shrugged to herself, trying to see the tips of his ears still. It would be an adventure and if someone could protect her there, if there was any danger, it would be him and maybe...not that she truly liked the woman but she did seem awfully protective and eager to help now.

She cleared her throat. "Is that it?" she asked when he shoved his wand back into his sleeve (only briefly wondering how it stuck there without sliding out) and received only a short nod.

"Okay. Er, how do we get there? And...I don't know but shouldn't you be telling McGonagall that you're going? I'm sure she will be back here to soothe her guilt and make sure you forgive her and..."

A scowl. That was her answer. A scowl and...he looked at the girl. He just looked at her for the longest moment imaginable before he pulled out his damned wand again and stabbed it into thin air, muttering under his breath.

Suddenly, a huge thing erupted from it. It looked like a blend between a fish and a salamander. A worm. A fish with legs. It looked positively, fucking disgusting and she watched the thing before her eyes turned to him. He seemed to be just as shocked as she was upon the sight but quickly spoke to it (and she couldn't truly hear what he said) before he flicked his wand again and it was swimming, or galloping or vanishing away.

"What the hell was that?" she asked breathlessly, close to taking her daughter from his arm (and she was still sitting on his lap) and leaving this place. Magic was strange and produced silvery-white, glowing salamander-shark-fish-things.

"My Patronus," he explained rationally. "It will be the quickest way to send a message to Minerva to let her know we're at the Ministry. In case backup is needed, she will be able to get you out of there. You and Emma."

"What's a Patronus?" she asked, rubbing her arms to stop the goosebumps.

"It's my mascot," he replied only and stood up, handling her girl with amazing care. "Let's go."

Christine shook her head but allowed him to take her arm.

xx


	33. Chapter 33

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

_**Dedicated to Moewe and Potioness who guessed Severus's Patronus form!**_

_**xx**_

Chapter 31 (with stupid hats, the Ministry and a tiny bit of swooning)

xx

She tried to hide her frown, she really did. But this looked like a bloody temple. Temple for what, she wasn't sure. An underground temple for...whatever. She was very happy, not to say relieved, to have Severus by her side, the smell she had never noticed before but was apparently his, in her nose, her daughter sitting on his arm, looking, just as she was, around in barely concealed (in her case) astonishment. The girl rested her head against his chest and only lazily, from time to time, pointed out various things and babbled to herself.

She couldn't truly look at him but the way he walked was different. It seemed a fake self-confident walk, a stride but slower than she had expected. It was almost as if he was taking this all in, as if he was alerting people to his presence. Making sure they noticed her was there.

But most uncomfortable were the people's stares. Not that she was unused to people staring at her. She knew those. Full of jealousy, full of disgust, full of...whatever and she wanted to snap 'what the fuck are you looking at?' at every one of them but she held back. Held back and held herself close to Snape, especially since he seemed to know where he was going.

Oh, and the getting there, to wherever she was now. She had felt like fucking toothpaste. Squeezed through a tube. Gut clenching. Gut squeezing. Head expanding. Head shrinking and she could easily forgive the white spot that had come up from her girl's stomach and which Severus had vanished with a simple flick of his wand from his stark black clothes. Strange clothes.

Most people there wore strange clothes and even stranger hats than the bloody Royal Family. She only caught one or two in jeans and jumpers. The rest wore cloaks. Lord of the Ring cloaks. Even Severus, who had apparently changed without her noticing wore one of those. Even though, it did look quite alright on him. Especially with that narrow cut jacket underneath and the white cuffs peaking out from underneath. Quite a sight. And at least he wore no silly hat. She could just about forgive HMQ her silly hats, but not normal people. This wasn't bloody Ascot, was it?

"Are they all required to wear stupid hats?" she asked in a whisper, putting her hand on his arm.

"No," he answered without looking at her but keeping his eyes straight ahead at strange looking elevators. "But it seems the Wizarding World will never learn and will always stick to their traditions."

"Hats like that are a tradition? Is there anything else I should know about?"

"Men can wear heels," he replied, a corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "And they do not hesitate to wear purple."

"I've noticed," she replied, hiding her grin behind her hand and her giggle concealed by a cough. "Did you see that tall, blonde bloke with the stupid specs and the two-inch heels? He wore orange with pink. Are they all gay or...?"

"Most of them aren't," he turned his head and almost smiled at her. "They just don't..."

"Colour blind?" she tried.

He shook his head and his almost-smile grew into a minute hint of a smile. "Just no sense of style. And I seem to remember that you have..."

"You destroyed my mini-skirt. And all the colours matched. Always," she challenged him and he, in turn, stopped walking and faced her, looked at her and said absolutely nothing.

"What?" she asked, feeling quite out of her depths, with him looking at her like that, and with so many people staring at her. Even though she was properly dressed. Even in his eyes. "The fucking colours always matched."

He still only looked at her, smirking. It was disconcerting. She hadn't seen him this way. Ever. Not once. It unsettled her. It was odd.

"Severus," she hissed. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Severus!" a voice, breathless, came from behind him and even though she hadn't heard the voice that often, she immediately realised it as McGonagall's.

xx

The Patronus had changed. The Doe was gone. Replaced by something...slightly odd. Slightly unrecognisable. He had to look it up back at home but now, in this minute, it was more fun to see Christine this way. Slightly flustered, not exactly knowing what to say. He was...enjoying that. He was enjoying riling her up. He was enjoying walking with her, with Emma sitting contentedly on his arm, playing with his buttons or resting her head against his chest. He enjoyed this trip, even if he tried not to think about the fact that they were at the Ministry of Magic. He tried to forget all that and he almost could, if he only focused on her and her child. She tried to behave herself. He could see that she was itching to ask, to comment but she only kept walking next to him. She had even gone through the apparition with more grace than he thought she could muster. She had only staggered briefly and the mess Emma had made on his robes was easily vanished. It was to be expected in a little girl anyway. Or any child and he had prepared himself for that. Or maybe not. Maybe he had just vanished it. It didn't matter.

Only the hats. She couldn't keep quiet about the hats and part of him hoped that they would meet someone with an outrageous model. Augusta Longbottom, preferably. Not that he wanted to cross Mrs Longbottom's way but her comments on her hat would make all the hexing be worthwhile.

"Severus!" he heard a shout a million miles away as he looked at her challengingly. She and her miniskirts. One of these days, he would destroy all of them. Nobody should be allowed to see her in a miniskirt. It looked cheap and vulgar. And even if she was the latter, she definitely didn't belong into the former category.

His face almost gave him away. He shouldn't be thinking those thoughts. She was a tart. She was a vulgar...no. She wasn't. She was a decent human being who just happened to share most of the shitty aspects of his own damned childhood and she had grown into that. He had grown into...Severus Snape. Digusting monster. She had grown into Christine Lightfoot, cheap, vulgar, fighter. Fierce. Annoying. Kind. Outspoken. Bad-mouthed. Pretty. Coarse. Common.

He forced his expression back into nothingness and turned to the voice – Minerva's – shouting his name. In the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. If he hadn't been noticed by everyone by now, now all eyes would be on them. As they should be. But maybe she could explain his new, slightly disgusting, Patronus.

"Severus," she repeated, panting directly in front of him. "What has happened to your Patronus?"

He looked at her rather coldly. He couldn't change the way he acted in public. Not even with the child giggling in his ear.

"An axolotl? Severus?" she tried to catch her breath, and was doing so by holding one hand to his arm, and another to her chest.

Axolotl. So that was his new Patronus? Axolotl. That was...unusual. Not that he knew much about those – or had even realised what it was. Nobody would realise that.

"Axolotl?" Christine asked. "Aren't those some weird Mexican things?"

Minerva nodded impatiently but her mien softened slightly upon looking at Christine. "Yes, yes, it is. It can regrow almost all of its body parts. Including the brain. I hope you do not intend to fry, or kill your brain anytime soon because you will not be able to regrow it. Even if you came back from the almost-dead." She arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, thank you for that, Minerva," he said sarcastically. "I distinctly recall telling you that I was out to the Ministry. Not that I will need your babysitting."

"You said she would be coming as well. And the wee one," she said simply, implying so much more. He only nodded at her, mind still reeling at the thought about his new Patronus. Axolotl. Weird animal.

"Who do you intend to see?" she asked and without waiting for an answer, starting to walk towards those elevators, and he followed her with Christine by his side. Would need those damn things in any case. Christine was staring at Minerva's head. A part of his mind had, subconsciously, hoped that she would wear one of her infamous hats and he wasn't disappointed.

"Seriously?" Christine asked, whispering, pointing stealthily at Minerva's head. "She wasn't wearing them when she came over. Why now?"

"De rigeur," he shrugged. "She knew she ventured into Muggle territory," he whispered back. "They do try to blend in, even if they sometimes do not succeed at all."

She giggled by his side, but followed Minerva closely and in silence. She still looked around interestedly though and she stuck close to his side, as well as by her baby. Minerva walked straight to one of the elevators but he had other things in mind. He wouldn't go to Kingsley. He would go to the damned Auror that had written the stupid letter. And to him, he would talk. Make him do a lot of paperwork. Go there with Christine and Emma and leave again after doing the last bit of duty to the Ministry and the Wizarding World. Not that he owed them anything but he would do them this favour. Maybe swing a bit, if he could, for Draco and his mother. Nothing else. He would just answer some questions and refuse to answer some. He would leave his mark. Of course for that, he should have recognised his own Patronus but without time for research and Christine there and Emma on his arm, and his resolution to get to the Ministry as quickly as possible, without pondering upon his new, somewhat disgusting Patronus.

An axolotl. He would have to read up on it. As soon as he got home. First, Theobald Thriffleling. This man was almost to be pitied. Not by him. But others would, definitely, pity him upon hearing that he was about to be visited by Severus Snape, notorious murder. Not that Minerva knew he was about to visit him. She had, however, pressed the right button on the elevator and he held Emma close to his chest. The direction of the trip could throw people unused to it quite off balance and somehow, as soon as it had started, he had Christine hanging onto his other arm. She had just grasped it tightly and the force of the elevator going off had thrown her, sort of, into him. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but her chest was pressed against his and her arm was pressed against his and he had her hair in his face, or on his chin, and he could smell her and Emma and her. She didn't even look up apologetically or anything. The moment she had grown used to the velocity, the way of the elevator thing, she straightened again. She was suddenly gone from him again. Her chest wasn't pressed against his anymore. Her arm was only lightly resting on his and his nose was only Emma's hair and the scent of hers and nothing was tickling his chin.

He was almost certain that he could feel himself blushing but he could drop his head forward, ever so slightly (and she wasn't looking at him anyway), let his hair shield his face. He couldn't let anyone in that tiny quadrangle bit of room see that he was blushing because he couldn't remember the last time he had felt a female breast pressed against his body, even through layers and layers of clothing. The softness of...and the scent of...he held his head very low.

Focus on Thriffleling, then on finding out more about his new, terrifying Patronus. Not on soft female breasts and wonderfully seductive scents. He couldn't think of that now. Or ever.

xx

The Axolotl Patronus was most strange to see when she had, sooner or later, expected to see the more familiar doe. Or, actually, she had expected an owl. Wasn't sure whether he could pull up a memory happy enough to produce a Patronus but when she had seen him talking rather intimately with Lightfoot, and holding the girl in his arms (which had looked remarkably like...a family), she understood his capacity. That girl, before, running to him, smiling at him, would probably be powerful enough for anyone. It would be powerful enough for her, even. Seeing him so startled, seeing her so happy at seeing him.

She didn't know much about axolotls. She knew from her animagus training, back then, back when the world had still been young, that Josephus Stingdil's animagus form had been an axolotl. And that his animagus form had been little use to him in life. He had been the one who had tried to find ways of changing his own animagus and had found none. He had died bitter and annoyed at himself. And she knew that they could basically regrow themselves. They could even regrow their brain, all their body parts. Apart from that – oh well. Severus was not the handsomest face in the world and axolotls weren't the handsomest of creatures. Hagrid would like one, she supposed, allowing herself a small smile.

Not that the smile was solely for Hagrid and what he would do with axolotls and various cross-breeds and hybrids but also upon the way that Lightfoot blushed rather girly just after she had fallen on Severus. Those two were...should be...she smiled quietly to herself. And if she had to be a kind of grandmother to that little girl Emma (or Burgundy – she wasn't certain of the status quo anymore), she knew exactly what grandmothers were supposed to do, thanks to her own Nanna. She would probably soon get a discount at Honeyduke's but that would be alright. She would...

The elevator stopped abruptly (seriously – why those abrupt departures and arrivals? She needed to have a word with whoever was responsible for that) at the Auror Department. She would just see where Severus wanted to go and follow him. It seemed unlikely that he would voluntarily speak to Kingsley at all. Those two had had a rather odd history during their time together at the Order. None of them ever trusting the other. None of them ever...and they could have been such good friends. Severus could have been such good friends with so many but...oh well.

He stepped out of the elevator, Lightfoot hanging onto his arm and Emma (it was better than Burgundy) sitting on his other arm, worrying his buttons. Like a family, and he didn't even seem to mind. He strode the way he had strode through Hogwarts at his most magnanimous, his head held high and together with the woman on his arm and the child on his arm it gave a rather impressive view.

She wasn't sure where he was going but she would follow, would ask why he hadn't hidden Lightfoot and the child under some glamour (or if he had, why she couldn't see it) and she would be there for him. As simple as that.

Minerva straightened her best hat on her head and with brisk steps, followed Severus.

xx

She still felt lightheaded. Slightly. Wasn't used to holding onto a strong man who seemed to take a sniff of her hair. Wasn't used to her head resting on a hard, masculine chest and the scents waving into her nose.

She just followed him, dazedly. Wasn't sure where he was going but he seemed to know, his sure step indication of an exact goal in mind. She just clung to his arm, enjoying the feeling of...being on someone's arm. Being held and being led along.

She shouldn't be thinking this.

This was Snape who had almost hit Em...Burgundy. But he was also the kind man who had...no. She had to focus on her task and her task was to be there. Simple. Just be there – completely. Not to look like someone he had paid to go with him. Just to be someone by his side. Nothing more, nothing less. She couldn't allow herself to be distracted by him and the wonderful feeling of his arm underneath his fingers.

She took notice of her surroundings, or tried to at least. Everything looked so fucking posh. Marble on the walls and possibly the floors. Beautiful wooden doors and one of them, a rather small one, seemed to be Severus's destination. She was almost tempted to pull out her girl's dummy – even if she was quietly playing with Severus's row of buttons. But this was even more overwhelming than all kinds of bureaucrats she had ever met put together. More impressive (not in a good way) than all the fucking offices they had in sodding Sheffield. She felt...well, intimidated. Or would have, if not for that strong arm underneath her fingers. She shouldn't be thinking that.

Forcefully, he opened the door he had been walking towards. No knocking, nothing. He just opened it, and let it go, making it bang against some wall in the process and she felt herself guided through that door, feeling McGonagall enter after her.

"Mr Thriffleling," Severus said to the little man sitting rather scared looking behind a desk, behind stacks of old-fashioned looking papers and scrolls of whatever. An ink-well seemed to have been the casualty of Severus's forceful entrance and the blue liquid was seeping into the rather cheaper looking carpet on the floor.

"Pro...,erm, Mr Snape," the little man said, obviously quite shaken. "I..."

"Yes, yes, shall we cut all that inane chit-chat? I am here because I was told to be here. You were going to tell me that you hadn't expected me and that I made no appointment. No, I haven't but you obviously wanted to see me and I believe all that silly paperwork which will vanish into some cabinet sooner rather than later will still be there in two minutes time when I'm gone again."

"I, erm..." he tried to counter but Christine was too taken by Severus's expression. He looked like he was close to eating that poor little man. And that poor little man looked rather scared. McGonagall had come to stand next to her and she stood slightly behind Severus who still held her girl. It made no difference though. With or without the child, if he had looked at her that way, she would have possibly run for her life. Or kicked him in the privates.

"Yes, Mr Thriffleling. I'm certain what you might have to say might actually be something of value. Or not. However, I am here, if I have to repeat myself, because I believe you wanted to hear me speak. So I am speaking. Take that quill of yours and write it down, I will only say it once."

The poor little man nodded and with widened eyes grabbed a feather-thing and began to scribble violently.

"Firstly, I am a free man. I understand that the Ministry in all their wisdom have decided that I did what I did was done on orders in times of war. Secondly, as I am a free man, I do not wish to be told what to do. Neither by the Ministry, nor by any of their stooges, nor by anyone else. Thirdly, I will never again answer to a summon. Any post, any letter, anything from the Ministry of Magic will burn prettily in my hearth. Fourthly, I do not know how many Death Eaters or sympathizers of the Dark Lord are still around. They are all guilty. Most of those that claim the Imperius Curse are guilty. The Dark Lord never put an Imperius Curse on anyone for a longer amount of time. He did when he wanted something done but he believed that he had the elite surrounding him without coercion on his part. Fifthly, anyone under the age of twenty should be allowed to reconsider his or her way of thinking. It makes little sense to send children to Azkaban or to have children kissed. By that, I of course mean in particular former Slytherin students, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott. Blaise Zabini never was a Death Eater and neither was Millicent Bulstrode. Sixthly, Lucius Malfoy is guilty, his wife isn't. Seventhly, ..."

"Mr Sna..." the little man tried to interrupt but Severus shot him a glare. This behaviour of his really wasn't taken too well by her stomach. It was fluttering wildly, her hands were trembling a little and even her girl looked rather interestedly at her 'Snep' who had never said so much all at once.

"Quiet," he replied imperiously (and this would earn him a kick in the privates if he ever spoke to her like that), "Seventhly, I believe you have a list of known Death Eaters. They are guilty. If you're so unsure who was and who wasn't, I suggest the use of a rather fabulous little potion called Veritaserum. None of them are immune to it, the Dark Lord never used it on his followers, he believed his grasp of Legilimency was strong enough. Eightly, I will walk out of here with her," he nodded at Christine, "and my child and..." she couldn't hear what he said after that.

His child? Yes. All in the line of their disguise but...his child? His? Christine had to close her eyes and put her hand around his arm to stop herself from...fallling.


	34. Chapter 34

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 32 (with a nice backside, a proposal and a kiss)

xx

He wasn't sure what had made him do it. It was the logical step to take but he had always been the one to rely on subtlety. He had thought it was unnecessary to state explicitly that Emma was...his. And it had possibly been quite unnecessary but he had...it had felt so good to have her stand slightly beside him and have Emma on his arm and having Minerva there – for the first time having his back – that...and besides, it had felt quite good to see a man like that, shocked and oddly humbled before him. He had said his piece and quite a bit more.

Christine would probably forbid him to see Emma again. And it was for the best. He was getting too attached to the child (and to her but that was something he did definitely not want to think about). Stupid slip of the tongue. Just because some form of possessive streak had taken control of him. And just because he had wanted to show this man that he was capable of having someone by his side. Just because they never believed he would have that. And he didn't. He only had a sort of neighbour with a child. He was exactly what they believed him to be – unlovable and unable to have a normal relationship to anyone. Unable to hold onto something good. Even if he held onto Emma with almost unrivalled fierceness.

He said his piece, and he turned around, let the idiot take a look at both McGonagall and Christine before they followed him out of the minute office. This was all he had wanted to do. Tell the Ministry what he cared about them. Let the Ministry know what was important to him. Not that he knew what was going to happen to him now – not that he had a plan. But pleasing the Ministry was definitely not even the remotest possibility. Maybe he would go to Greenland after all.

He looked at Emma, the girl who was smiling to sweetly up at him, whispering 'Snep' from time to time.

"Do you not think," he told her very quietly, his lips very close to her ear, his nose being tickled by the soft baby-hair on her head, "that you should call me Severus?"

The girl looked at him inquisitively, her head cocked to the side before she grinned at him, her four bright white teeth displayed in full. "Snep!" she said and cuddled him.

xx

Erwin was the happiest elf in the world. He wasn't sure how she had done it, but Lurky had come to him. Lurky had come and Lurky had looked at Erwin and Lurky had smiled very prettily and Lurky had sat down to entwine her ears with his. She had come on her own. Lurky was the prettiest, beautifullest elf in the world and she had her ears entwined with his and that meant that Lurky loved him. And Lurky would have want to have elflings with her. Little Lurky-Erwin-elflings.

He sat with Lurky in front of him, her nose touching his ever so slightly and their ears twisting and turning and touching. He would kiss her in a minute and then he would ask for her hand in marriage. She would say yes. She had been the one to start the ear-touching. She wouldn't say no. She would say yes and if they were married, Master Severus Sir was bound to take them both and...

his lips moved closer to Lurky's. He would kiss her in only a moment and later, he would make sure that everyone was happy. Everyone – Miss Lightfoot Ma'am and Master Severus Sir and Little Miss Emma. He would fix it. He was so happy and so in love and so everyone had to be.

xx

He almost ran out of the Ministry, or from the big big Atrium-like thingy with the big fountain. McGonagall had given up on keeping up, it seemed but she hadn't. She wasn't even sure which city they were in or if they were in the middle of fucking nowhere, and she didn't want to call out to him because...there were enough people looking at him and at Emma.

What a sensible name that was. In a way, she could understand Severus now. He had an unusual name. McGonagall had an unusual name. The daft bloke in the office had a weird name. Burgundy must have sounded too much like that and Emma did seem sensible.

Not that she wouldn't fight him on it. Burgundy would be Burgundy. It would remain on her birth-certificate. On every record. But if he wanted to name her, call her, Emma, she would only fight him for show. It was alright to have a nickname. A petname from her...father.

Sighing, Christine tried not to let Severus get out of sight. Of course all the people made way for him, stepped aside as if he was some kind of leper or messiah. She couldn't decide which – every person seemed to have another expression on their face. But she needed a way to get home and even though she doubted Severus would just forget about her (with her daughter on his arms), she didn't want to search for him. Or have him search for her. She'd only keep up, follow him.

She had to admit that he cut a damn nice figure. Especially from behind. It was good to look at him that way. He looked...and they way he had spoken with the poor bloke...she wanted to...

Shite. Yes. Shite. She wanted to kiss him again.

And seriously – what good could come of that? He wouldn't be someone to just fall head over heels with any stupid woman from down the road. He was someone who should have the prettiest young woman around him. He just oozed the sort of power (or had, in that office – had not when he had lain in bed almost dying) that was the chick-magnet. Was the same everywhere, wasn't it? Powerful older blokes got the most beautiful young women. The woman he would be living with, being with, would be no older than twenty-two, would have beautiful hair and the perfect style. Was the same with all blokes. Had been the same with David's father. No different. Nowhere.

Still, if she could get one more kiss out of him before he threw her out...she wouldn't say no to that, and so she followed him until he suddenly stood still, rooted on the spot in a secluded part somewhere between what looked like unused fireplaces, looked at her, and took her hand before she felt herself being transformed into toothpaste again.

xx

He had felt her eyes on his back the entire time. He had felt her watching him. He had seen her face for a split second before he had apparated them away. He couldn't be sure of what he had seen but if he had to wager a guess, it was something akin to...adoration. Want.

Only, that couldn't be. With the darker hair and the jeans, she could have any man she wanted. Not that he wanted her. No, he didn't. But she was...no, he didn't. She had been alright to go to the Ministry with. And she was the perfect woman to...but she was so different to all the women he had ever met. If he only compared her to Narcissa Malfoy. Or to Bellatrix even. To any of the female teachers at Hogwarts. She was so...special. She stuck out. Even if she had kept very quiet in Thriffle...whatever his name had been's...office. But she had still been there and he had been able to feel her presence even if she hadn't said a word. She had just been...

No.

He would deliver her home. Hand over Emma, and go back home. Home to Erwin and make plans on what to do with the rest of his life. Go back to Hogwarts, write a book, be a landscape gardener, stay in the Muggle world – he would make a list and a plan, without the distraction of her or her daughter.

He almost – but of course only almost – messed up their (his, really) apparition. He had almost toppled over by the time he had landed all of the safely in his house. His thoughts had gone into directions not truly useful during any kind of magical travel, much less apparition. But, in the end, he hadn't even had to hold Christine and keep her from falling even though – her falling on him in the elevator at the Ministry...he wouldn't mind repeating that experience.

Yes, he would mind. She deserved someone better than him and Emma deserved a different, better father and why was he thinking about this in the first place? He wasn't...hadn't any feelings for Christine. Only a few, minute ones for Emma but that was to be expected. And he wouldn't admit to them in public. Except, lie that she was his daughter. But that had happened only once now and there wouldn't be a repeat performance.

He made the mistake then of looking into her eyes again. Honey-coloured and her lashes long and bent the way lashes should be bent. He could smell her. He had the scent of honey in his nose – but maybe that was just some form of psychological suggestion because he was focused of looking into her eyes. He normally wasn't the person to like eyes as the first thing he noticed about a woman (or any person at all). He normally didn't even think that eyes were beautiful. They were just...means. Like ears. And noses. And mouths. And hands. And skin and Christine's skin was...and her breasts had felt...

He wanted to look away but she didn't either. She stayed there and looked at him as well.

"Master Severus Sir!" he heard a shriek behind him and was almost unable to pull away from her gaze. No, he was unable to pull away and an elf catapulted into his legs. "Master Severus Sir! Lurky has agreed to marry Erwin!" the elf bounced up and down, holding onto his legs and Christine seemed to be nearer to him than he had originally thought because he seemed to be running around them in circles and pushing them, maybe, closer together because her eyes grew bigger and he could see the little laughter-lines around her eyes quite clearly and her eyes grew bigger.

"Severus? Your elf is getting married," she said suddenly and he found himself nodding, registering somewhere at the back of his brain that he would have to do research on not only his Patronus but also on elf-marriages and what that would mean for him. But in all honesty, he didn't even realise that he was thinking about those things, making mental notes because he could feel her smiling. The laughter-lines around her eyes grew deeper and there was some extra-contact on his shirt. It wasn't only Emma pressing her head or her hands against him but there was something bigger as well. He felt a shove from behind him and he fell deeper into the hand, or whatever it was, that was pressing against his chest and Christine's face was so close to his. He could feel her breath on his lips, could taste it, could smell the faint traces of coffee she had drunk before.

"Christine," he found himself saying and her eyes were shining, smiling.

"I know," said she, breathlessly, even if he could still feel her breath on his face and a moment later, Emma was putting her head gently on his shoulder, he felt her press her lips on his. Warm, moist, coffee-flavoured lips that pressed firmly against his with a softness that he couldn't believe.

A second or a minute later, those lips were gone and he...his mind was upside down. He wasn't sure what to think, what to believe, what to know. He had to open his eyes even if he was unsure when he, or someone else, had closed them and he looked right at her who had lost that sheen in her eyes and looked rather like...

He held Emma tightly with his right arm as his left found its way around her waist and pulled her close to him. Christine, touching him from thigh to chest and it was better than before. Better than in the elevator. He took a deep breath, knowing it was washing over her the way her breathing at washed over him before before he took the plunge (and he would think about all that later) and pressed his own lips on hers. Kissed her – pay her back for those two times she had kissed him before.

Kiss her and invade her mouth and her senses to the best of his abilities. He couldn't stop. He just kissed her, touched her back, stroked her back. Kissed her. Slow and forceful, quicker and demanding. He couldn't remember ever having kissed this way. Kissed her. Just kissed her.

Let her kiss back.

"Snep! Mummy! Kiss!" someone shouted, suddenly.

xx


	35. Chapter 35

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 33 (with awkwardness)

xx

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The vast expanse of bare skin before him, that flawless, soft, slightly freckled back right in front of him, right there for him to see. The swell of her buttocks only partly covered with his duvet, the spine straight but dipped just before her bum, her neck long and stretched out as her head was turned to her side. The front of her body entirely covered as she lay on it, 0ne of her legs uncovered by the duvet, the other underneath it, slightly bent at the knee.

It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Her shoulder blades sharp. Covered with soft, flawless skin, dusted slightly with freckles.

His hand itched to run over it but since he couldn't even remember how exactly he had come to be there, lying on the pillow on his back next to her, he daren't. It was perfect and he couldn't disturb that perfection. He had never seen a woman more beautiful, a backside had never seemed so sensual, so beautiful. Her hair was between them on the pillow, and surrounded her head, covering not a bit of her neck and back. One of her hands rested just next to his shoulder, the other, he couldn't see from his position.

He wasn't sure how he had come to be there. One moment, he had kissed her and Emma had interrupted them. She had taken the girl resolutely from his arms, had kissed her and sent him a look he had never seen on a woman, and had handed her to a cheerful, happy Erwin before she had kissed him again.

After that, it had been a very enjoyable blur. Or...she had leaned into his touch. She had moaned his name. She had...she had enjoyed it, apparently. And he...oh had he ever. Women, so far, had been...well, paid, and they had never showed that kind of genuine (had it been?) enthusiasm.

She had dragged him upstairs, had she not? Had he carried her? He couldn't remember. Kisses that had drugged him, that had fogged his brain, his clear thinking, his rationality.

And now – now she lay there so perfectly, so beautifully. And he couldn't touch her.

"What now?" she asked softly, dragging him out of his thoughts as she lifted herself up on her elbows, displaying her breasts to him. They had...felt so much better bare than they had clothed. Soft and warm and...

He looked at her and pondered her question, ignoring the way his body yearned to pull her closer, to press her to him, to bind her to him, to never let her go again. He had heard, once, that it was women who became emotionally attached after sleeping with someone of the opposite (or even same?) sex. Now, it desperately looked like it was him. What a joke.

He cleared his throat and answered with the first thing that really came into his head upon seeing her ribcage so near, her spine, her shoulder blades, the vertebrae at her neck, even her smile. "Now is the right time for you to run away screaming," he replied sarcastically.

"Really?" she answered with a smirk. "I'd've said now's the time you'd run screaming."

"Why would I do that?" he asked, truly astonished. She was so beautiful and he was...what he was.

"Why would I?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow and flopping back on her stomach, the hand that had almost touched his shoulder before now touching his chest for real. Fingers resting just above his heart. She should feel the fluttering, the wild beating. It was idiotic to just...feel that way after sleeping with her. Once. After seeing her back displayed to him, half of her buttocks there for him to admire. She let her forefinger wander across his chest, along one of the minute scars etched into the skin, let the rest of her fingers and her thumb rest on his skin.

"But I'm..." he began to say, but was startled into silence by her stunning smile.

"I'm a mother of two. One of them has run away to his stupid father. While I'm definitely not the slut in the street, I am considered to be in the top five. Of course that's not true but people talk. But you...you're a hero. And the way you talked to that silly man today..." she smiled at him further and leaned up to kiss his chest. Kiss his chest. "If anyone, it should be you running away screaming."

"But I don't..." he stammered, and it was the first time he could remember stammering. Ever. He could feel the tips of his ears growing hot.

"What?" she asked, drawing back slightly. "Are you married?"

"No!" he said quickly. "But..." He felt quite speechless even if there was one question on his mind. One single question. He had to ask. It was clear in his mind but finding the words to phrase it exactly the way he wanted it, wasn't all that easy.

"But what?" she asked, frowning and he could feel her forefinger stopping the tracing of his scar.

"But...do you want to be here? Did you want this to happen?"

"What do you mean? If I hadn't wanted it to happen, it wouldn't've. And if I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"But it's..."

"It's all I hear from you right now," she said, sounding a little angrier than before. "You sure have a way of making a woman feel at home, Snape."

"No, I mean, I..." he felt awkward. There was a beautiful woman next to him, in his bed, and he didn't even know what to say. To tell her that he wanted her to stay there. He wanted her to be there. Her and Emma. Emma safely with Erwin and her exposing her back and half her bottom to him. Her hand on his chest and her hair tickling his upper arm. He just wasn't sure how to tell her. He didn't know.

He turned on his side and looked at her and she looked so beautiful. He leaned towards her, kissed her brow slowly and reached out to her, stroking her spine with two fingers, feeling his heart beating strongly when he saw her smile again.


	36. Chapter 36

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Chapter 34 (with a happy if vague end)

xx

She had to have a word with Harry Potter, well, actually, she had to pull Harry Potter into a quiet part of the Ministry – just because she didn't think it wise to have him confront Severus. Or vice versa. She had lost them afterwards but it had been alright. Better to have a chat with Harry than to have Severus and Harry duelling at the Ministry, with the babe and Lightfoot in between.

She had behaved admirably, Minerva thought. Not that anyone had a chance to behave anything but admirably when Severus had begun his little speech. He had been quite impressive. Someone she wanted to have on her side – and yes, she knew that she had said differently not so long ago. She had been wrong. But he knew that she knew. He knew that she felt very sorry for the way she had behaved. At least she hoped he knew.

She would just, she had decided, go back to his house that morning. Talk to him for a bit, see if he had digested going to the Ministry well, see if he had found out more about his Patronus, and maybe, if the situation would arise, talk to him about the vacant Defence against Dark Arts and Potions position at Hogwarts. But only if the situation arose. Otherwise, she would...she had to make it clear to him that she was sorry. That she...she hated doing that kind of thing. She hated stating things explicitly that should be clear. And he should know that she was sorry. He had to know.

Still. There were other things to deal with as well. Hogwarts did not run itself and there were several students who wanted to return to finish their seventh year decently. She would have to coordinate all that as well. But she had to learn to delegate now anyway. And Pomona could do the coordination as well, the larger number of dormitories. And Filius could be trusted with the schedules.

Minerva had Severus to see.

xx

There was black hair. Sparse, scattered black hair. Just in front of her eyes. Just there. And she was naked. And the sparse, scattered black hair was on an equally naked body.

Yes. Ah yes. She smiled, closing her eyes again. She had spent the night and Emma was asleep (as the creature called Erwin had let them now when he had brought them refreshments at...she didn't remember what time) in Severus's old bedroom. She had spent the night. With Severus. Christine smiled gently. She had truly spent the night. He had not let her go, or she hadn't wanted to go and at one time or another, he had just tightened his arms around her, had hugged her viciously and had pulled her half on top of him and had closed his eyes. And she had done the same. Had just closed her eyes after exhausting, excessive bouts of...sex. Had fallen asleep half on him, her head pillowed on his chest and he had slept. With her in his arms.

She felt awfully protected lying there like that, both his arms around her, completely encircled by him. Felt terribly safe. Emma was there in the next room, a babysitter around and she was being in the arms of a man. And not just any man but the man who had seemed so reserved at first, had seemed so weak and so tired and had seemed so...broken. Had seemed so forceful and had seemed so powerful and had seemed to restrained. Had pulled back even when Burgundy (she shouldn't think of her as Emma...her name was still Burgundy) had destroyed his drug. The man who had been able to absolutely sweep her off her feet. Who had paid so much attention to her. Had paid so much attention to her daughter. And his daughter. He had said so. His daughter and her daughter.

And in a way...she was.

"Without you, she wouldn't be here," she whispered softly. "You saved her life." She thought he was still sleeping, his breathing so even and so regular but he suddenly cracked an eyelid and with one eye looked at her.

"Who?" he asked huskily and slowly opened his other eye. The look on his face, however, could only be described as – astonished.

"Em...Burgundy's," she replied. "Good morning."

"I did not save her life," he replied, his hold on her slackening.

"Of course you did," she answered and buried her nose in the hair on his chest. "Without you..."

"I shouldn't have called her my daughter," he replied, his arms now almost completely gone from her, "I..."

"Of course you should have. What are fathers? Fathers are...without fathers, children wouldn't be born. Without you, she wouldn't have been born. Without you, she wouldn't exist. That's the definition of a father. And she loves you and I know that you lo..."

"Don't," he said warningly.

"You know, she sighed, sitting up. "I hate it when nights end like that. You think that you have a shot at a future, at something and in the morning, the bloke is so disgusted by you that he picks a fight about a more or less random topic. Or he just leaves. Thank you for not leaving your own house but I think I want to go. This is not how I..." she was cut off. Suddenly, surprisingly, cut off. He had pulled her back down and before she could even think about protesting, he had sealed her mouth with his, had pressed his lips on hers. He shook his head while kissing her, or at least it seemed that way to Christine and when she pulled back a second or seventy later, bloody dizzy from lack of oxygen, he had the audacity to glare at her. He at her! Not the other way around.

"If you think I'm so..." he started but what he could, she could. In her sleep. She tackled him, landed on top of him, her mouth attacking his in the gentlest of ways, her body stretched out on top of his.

"Christine," he said, muffled around her lips.

"Shut up," she replied, just as muffled. "We're equals, you and me." She pulled back suddenly, still resting on top of him but looking into his eyes. "If we cannot be equals, tell me now and I will leave. If you cannot treat me like..."

She couldn't finish her sentence. Not because he silenced her with a kiss this time, but because he merely, without saying a word, pulled her down onto his chest, tucked her head under his chin and stroked her back. Just as gently, just as kindly, just as softly has he had done the night before. There were so many things they had to clear up but Severus...he knew what to do. He knew how to tell her things without saying a word. And maybe she just knew how to understand his answers. Just the soothing stroking of her back and then the soft kiss on her head were enough for her to understand that, yes, she was his equal, yes, he would treat her decently. She just knew and when she dared to look up into his face again, she was sure that the widened eyes she saw there were simply the surprise at seeing her own eyes so full of tears.

"I can't help it," she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I've..."

He pulled her back down, kissed her forehead and caressed her. There was no need for words just now.

xx

He was usually an eloquent man. Words had, so far, only failed him when he had been under massive bouts of curses, of hexes, when the pain could only be kept inside by keeping utterly silent. Now, it was the...how to describe it...the tenderness of her in his bed. This woman Minerva (not that he wanted to think about Minerva just now) had pegged as completely vulgar was so gentle and kind and soothing and...tender to him. It seemed like she just accepted the fact that he was there. And that she was there. With him. It was...blowing his mind and playing with his sense.

But she was right. They had to talk. Some time in the not too distant future, they would have to talk and he would have to find words. And the right words. The words to tell her that he had only loved once. That with that love he had killed. That he would, if he kept her in his life, would make her, quite possibly, unhappy.

No, he thought. He didn't want to see her unhappy. He didn't want to see her the way she had looked after he had struck, or almost struck, Emma. He didn't ever want to see her like that again. He would not make her unhappy.

His fingers played on her back, mapping the soft skin.

"I may not always find the right words," he said tonelessly and she looked up in surprise but a little smile made her lips twitch.

"I see," she replied and pushed up out of his arms, on her elbows so she could look down at him. "I just...promise me, Severus..."

"What promise?" he asked, looking deeply into her eyes which had seen him at his weakest and strongest. Which had been quite wide open at several points during the night, which had been heavy-lidded at least the same amount of time. She had seen him. Him. Not some version. She had seen the entire picture. Not only the teacher, or the spy, or the useful weapon or the pawn. The poor lad needing atonement. She had seen everything.

And that made all the difference.

"Promise me you will never hit Em..Burgundy," she said in a flat tone while her eyes were burning hotly.

He looked at her, surprised. He had expected...he wasn't sure what he had expected but it wasn't that. He had thought he had made it clear. But...with all his feelings inside, he could understand her. Emma was the most precious thing she had. She would protect her with her life.

He couldn't find fault in that.

"I swear upon my life that I will never raise my hand towards her," he declared solemnly, staring into her eyes. There was something inside, something in their depths that...he felt himself smiling as well. A small smile but nevertheless there. He could feel it. "And I swear upon my life that I will never hit you either."

Her eyes widened again and she pounced upon him, launched herself into his arms, kissed his face, his lips, his cheeks, his chin, his eyes, his forehead, his temples, his eyebrows, his hairline feverishly.

He had said the right thing.

xx

"Erwin," she said, her voice sounding squeaky even to her own ears. The elf sat there, with one of the Hogwarts elves, Lurky, in Severus's kitchen. Having his ears entwined with Lurky's.

There goes another elf, she thought dismayed.

But, that wasn't the strangest thing. He was, sitting next to Lurky (their ears entwined) feeding the child with some kind of...mush. Yes, so she didn't know much about children and this was just...mush. The girl grinned from ear to ear, some of the...mush trickling from her mouth and upon seeing her, the child opened her mouth even wider. "Mogall," she said proudly and Minerva's eyes widened for a second before she could take a hold of herself again.

"Minerva McGonagall," she enunciated.

"Mogall," the girl repeated again and Erwin the elf used the opportunity to put some more...mush into her mouth.

"Mistress Headmistress, ma'am," Lurky jumped up (and it looked quite painful on the other elf's ear). "Lurky are so sorry, Mistress Headmistress, ma'am."

She waved it away, still shocked about her new name (even if it was better than Snep – even though it sounded a bit like Muggle to her ears...) and took a deep breath. "It's quite alright, Lurky. I will speak about this with Severus Snape."

"Thank you, Mistress Headmistress, ma'am," both of the elves said gratefully and in unison and she waved it off again. What was one less elf? Especially considering that Severus had to deal with elvish birth control and the myriad of elflings that would surely follow. Somehow, they always circumvented birth control. At least she wouldn't have to deal with that on top of everything else.

The girl suddenly, quite unexpectedly, reached out her little chubby arms, squealed that idiotic new name 'Mogall' and Erwin in what must have been a fit of superior elf stupidity, handed her the child. She was terrified and petrified. What did she know about children? Holding them? Absolutely nothing. Nothing.

And the girl snuggled up to her! Pushed her mush-invested face against Minerva's neck. Wrapped her little arms around her neck as well.

"Mogall," she whispered and...

She understood Severus.

She had had the chance to hold plenty of children before. Nieces, nephews, their children and she had always declined. But now, with that little girl who had even wrapped her tiny, chubby legs around her, she didn't know why she had always declined. It was a marvellous feeling.

"Mogall," the girl said a moment later, looking at her with her mush-face and her little eyebrows drawn together. "Snep. Mummy. Kiss."

"What?" Minerva asked, and it came out louder than she had expected.

"Snep. Mummy. Kiss. Mogall," the girl explained again.

"Erwin? Lurky?" she asked, shooting the elves a glare.

"You see, Mistress Headmistress Minerva, ma'am..." Erwin began.

"Master Severus and Miss Lightfoot ma'am have entwined their ears," Lurky finished, smiling proudly.

"Excuse me?" she asked again.

xx

"Was that Em...oh fuck it, Burgundy? We need to speak about the name," she said, sighing.

"She looks like an Emma," he replied with a shrug, his bare, strong shoulders...very beautiful. So beautiful she wanted to touch them again. And again. And again.

"We will talk about it," she said, her mouth getting dry. "But not now."

The way he stood there...it was everything she ever dreamed a man should look like the morning after. Proud, erect, strong. And, maybe for the first time, she knew he was sure of himself. It was the second time she launched herself at him. Rocketed into his body but was held up by his arms. Gentle arms, strong arms. She pressed herself against him, just as he pressed himself against her, her breasts, even cupped in the bra, feeling wonderful against his bare chest. She couldn't get enough, it seemed. And even if it had only been one night, so far, she wouldn't mind repeating it. Over and over again. And then repeating it over and over again.

And he kissed the top of her head.

Unceremoniously. Just kissed the top of her head and held her tight.

"Mogall!" she heard all of a sudden coming from downstairs and she frowned.

"Now we know that she's up," Severus remarked drily.

"And it's not a word that she would normally use," remarked Christine, still frowning but still feeling too good in Severus's arms to let go immediately.

"Oh Merlin's hairy balls," he said with a gasp.

"What?"

"Mogall," he said. "McGonagall."

"Oh fuck me," she gasped. "But it's not like..."

"Snep. Mummy. Kiss," she heard and banged her head against his wonderfully male chest.

"Fuck it," she sighed. "Well, I guess now the cat's out of the bag..."

He nodded and looked into her eyes before he slowly kissed her. "She said," he said between nibbles on her lip.

Christine laughed and thumped him on the back. "So it's okay?"

He looked quite intently at her before he answered.

xx

"So it's okay?" asked Christine, her eyes more expressive than any Legilimency could be. She was hoping he'd say yes. She was counting on him saying yes. She wanted him to say yes.

His eyes softened and he smiled. "Yes," he nodded.

"So we put in an appearance?"

"Of course we do. Otherwise I'd miss the opportunity to see Minerva utterly dumbstruck," he smirked and she smirked back at him. She was so very beautiful. And looking quite mischievous smirking like that. He loved it. Every minute of it.

He had never felt this sort of contentment.

He pulled a shirt over his head, handed her one of his and transfigured a pillow into a long skirt for her and grasped her hand in his. It felt so soft, so small, so lovely.

"You won't change my entire wardrobe, will you?" she smirked.

"Only the short skirts and the deeply cut shirt-things," he said earnestly and she laughed.

"I won't let you," she said argumentatively. "I will just save up to get new short skirts."

"I'm faster in transfiguring than you'll be in buying them," he argued, a smirk playing on both their faces. He would make her stop swearing when Emma was around and he would make her stop wearing those vulgar clothes. Instead, he pulled her towards the door and then down the stairs.

Together, hand in hand, they walked into the kitchen, and Severus was slightly startled at seeing Emma so cosy on Minerva's arm but the quick bout of...jealousy was fast pushed away when he saw her truly dumbstruck face.

"So that's the way of it?" she asked after a moment of staring at their entwined hands.

"That's the way of it," he replied.

"So you won't come back to Hogwarts to teach?" she asked voicelessly.

He met her eye and shrugged one shoulder. "We haven't decided."

"We still have a lot of things to talk about," said Christine.

Severus smiled.

**xx**

**Fin**


End file.
